The blanket I wear on all occasions
Is gathering patches of pain by day
And every night when I throw it off
It moves on from the night sky to dawn
Gathering more patches of pain.

Some times stars
Sprinkle their desires on the rough pattern
That my blanket carries
Some times
Dawn, leave traces of dew drops
In the wild passionate love
That the night makes in the cosmic fabric.

Some times, the Sun disowns the love
It has for night and its stars
Some times, love does not even know
when its lost in the passions of physical pounding,
Loving, cries being merged on a negative staff.
Some times loving, the being
Does not know whether its an insect
Or a butterfly, thats lost among the lotus pond.