He croons a chorus
in circular paths
and sketches stations
along my spine--
defining differences
in bare-breaths of bark,
whilst carpenting paranormalities
across reality's sprigs.
So I carve chakras along sides
of soul,
to thrum through nadis
that nurture existence
and I enrich inner ideals
with a pasture of personality...
whilst opening optics
to the sushumna of self-realisation:
I am continuation of air--
mere matter-of-fact flow,
that furrows emotions
to the echo of my frown
and conscience relates itself
only to the clinginess
of my centuries.
Fondness fluctuates
between fate and desire,
etching electric energies
into symbols of his sun--
to measure the meaning of me
beneath his dawn
and so
we wade wisdom,
entwined within reflections
of passion's roots.
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