Burn Memories On The Sidelines of Shield

By Ritu Borah

what pain does the ground live with , melting with drunk , hover with burn and silk skin ,  ghettoed by the ghats of gravity . 

She weeps like leaves in the dark species of cold 

as mournful letters are all a cemetery 

bidding her trade with rocks and stones 

till her days on earth was never too old . 

Is peace by weather a wall beauty 

or a parade of brooks 

skipping on the outskirts of stay ? 

No way ! she lived in that oak 

Tenderly sheltered to blood 

Hauntingly her spirits chased 

Trading with mass and gravity. 

To rebel against their puzzled hearts 

were they inhaling predator's sins 

When they lynched her like paparazzi 

but no rioter had got god near them 

Undone at her finest dust erased . 

Is this a Poignant truth - 

Heard by some unseen proof 

or a twist and turning plot 

that half here and the other half there . 

But in a coup alliance - 

What mournful wails greet ? 

Once that network of a willow spread 

potholes had dreaded lengths count 

yet the passers -by passes with speed 

when a tipper had shortened her stay . 

Voila ! I saw the little girl cry 

through the gas lit corridors , 

bidding her trade with rocks and stones 

as mournful letters are all a cemetery . 

I uttered - rest in peace ! rest in peace ! 

that record the traces of chain saw birds . 

Isn't there the point of sprinkling salts in hall ?

risen from smokes incense , the priest prayed . 

Good huntsmen lit upon a shade 

as vilomah - never shall she rest , 

which plague the other hand dug 

accidently surpassing her grave . 

From the loose end of cine - 

wantonly her spirit chased , 

From fever rattle down to knees 

tormenting the termites build . 

And out of peaceful protests , 

the river in her melted fire fury , 

flipping heave mount with dance 

like tiny wings from the night 

timeline to a lit screen 

as soon as the lights are gone . 

"Oh ! Bring this shade to light ! Bring her to life ! - never shall her shed build a grief sea " , uttered the huntsman of the eves . 

But fear not when the wolves howl 

on a photostat terrains of pen irrigation . 

Freedom even for years guild 

usher in cracking at dawn , or  

turning to a midas song , 

Roaming like a wild ship in storms . 

Lore near roses , recorded close void  

from thoughts in coup , letters did pour 

a rift that shores what misses ..moan , grief ! 

But you must declutter grip 

to find your pristine express ,  

To let the lord's candle secure your skin . 

( She sculpted on a desert floor of concrete , 

cross beaming the notes of refugees , 

lingering a cast that half past leave 

as birds queue next to a tall orchard )

where's worry dreaded not , by the by -- is search futile , 

a missing report , 

pelting stones sink , eroding from the heart  to be their time skill revolt management ? 

Please breathe on the sidelines of shield . wrapping up from the hearth of rural tapestry - let's offer a minute of mourn : 

-- -- -- -- -- -- ---- ----- ---- -- --- - -- --- -- --- Hoping dear beloved finds a place in Heaven . 

By Ritu Borah