I am scared,
scared of reality of this material beauty,
helpless I am-ravaged,
by node of impending storm of progress,
by your passing shades.

It’s hard to measure,
the wholesome-twosome,
the beginning-the middle-the end,
spread upto in conceivable distance.

I am so small of the flock,
in the current sea,
my horizon is lost,
there is so much speed in my existence,
there are eruptions,
bursting of desires,
killing and devouring of each other,
I dread this threat of universal beauty.

The glow of fire,
when drop of desires drop in it,
nothing is lovable in this material beauty,
the paws of birth and death haunt me,
haunts now and then in dark streams.

The horizon of love is full of smoke,
the dust settles ilea of sea,
where do I go in this dusty disillusioned pasture.

The progress is blind,
who will beautify the art of depth,
by my mothers touch,
who will bind and take us to unfathomable depth,
retract your material beauty of fire.

It’s veining -piercing,
I have no desire to go into the fire with you,
for this blind burning.