then <br />owing to the pollen-grains <br />i can’t become a good goal-keeper <br /> <br />even a morning <br />overcast with nimbus <br />does not walk <br />catching the finger of the clap of the thunder <br />courtesy the james-clip <br />in her malkosh is playing on <br />the caw <br />the news-paper hawker <br />the maid-servant <br />though with some different bonding <br />with some different lighting <br /> <br />so much lachrymose on the cover of the opposite-water <br />as if at the gate of the candle-manufacturing-plant <br />some one by the capsicum get attached <br />the well-being information of the bison that breaks easily <br />and after stealing some over-boundaries <br />from the store of the un-timely spring <br />mingles with the pages of physics <br />a ratnti-kali-puja <br />that’ve got titillations from the nail-polish <br /> <br />through the act of walking <br />i’m <br />as i can guess <br />going to become drunk-mad<br /><br />murari sinha<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lines-more-lunatic-than-the-sun-10/
