After the dry run

When a poem starts winding down your aged heart
When you receive it from the unknown air
After the lean seasons of words which hide in strange valleys
When a silence condense down to drops of poem.

Then you remember the sweat at her nape
The wonder she sets the swirling hair
And how she canonizes the long dead images
And their cemeteries in draught hit time.

When words starts dripping through your pen
And paper turns its zestful curve to finest tone,
I can forget the groaning words and dreams
And sing a lullaby to the new born kid.

I can feel your throb of vain
And write it down the rhythm of heart
And as you walk along with me
Hand in hand as I wished it all time
Chirping voice sings my words
Foggy morning paints my images.

Share this spring of thousand dreams
As this theatre warms it soon
Touch my words and do a kiss .

When a poem is being born,
Stars add to its lust
A thousand glitter of twinkling words.

When words flow through the dried up patches
And kiss up the dreary banks with fervent bubbles
I forget it all and deeply lost in kiss of love
And relish myself in eternal truths of world.