Who knows why

Waters,
of one thousand and one
pickled summers,
hushed among the fingers
of rain,
swim into one another
like warm immutable petals of
lament.

Fading out,
in the reposed shadow of dreams,
in autumns breeze,
breaking in pieces,
on verdant eyelashes of sand,
bleed an oblivious desert.

The distant
notes of a sarengi
resonates in silence
waiting
to break loose on
the ripples of winter's
lost warmth.

5/1/2006 9:59 AM - First Posted