Why this hail , a silk curtain between
A cloud and sun, winter and summer
When it might spring yellow flowers
In backyard, brittle wings sprouting
Asks a bell in its whistles,its murmur
A side protest at the lack of formality .

Side protests are glossed over by form
And at its lack and spirit,a text rhyme
With no worldly rhythm, a blank verse
Of potential springs with real breeze,
A wind that does not rattle but brings
On a few fine flowers, color of fine silk.

There are no fireworks hid in mango
Throats swollen with rain ,just a few
Green mangos strewn over the yard
Hopelessly nipped in bud by cruel fog.
Mango crop holds no money promise
This year for a cheated mango farmer
With a coil of turban on head to carry
A springload of mangos to the market.


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