the last tram passes away
the boy
who is the owner of every parted-kite
sits lonely on the empty bench of the park
and makes it enlightened
in one pocket
he has few pieces of dry breads
in another
the air to play on bamboo-flute
the night is filled with
mushroom
all the shout within the dialogues
gradually becomes weak
and vanishes
there is no tangle in the
hair
the bier of the hindu-satkar-samiti
runs away
causing a quake in the locality
some needles
small medium and big
are doing their morning-walk
on the thread-line
that is the secret of a phoenix