The healer

He would pick on the woman in crowd
And she would fall like  tree in cyclone.
We witnessed a God’s miracle on body.

We too wanted to fall like a cyclone tree
To excise ghosts from our facet of birth ,
Our bearded existence a lion in the den.

We liked to beard a lion in the very den
And grasp fate in clenched fists essence.
We liked to loosen fists to bunch of keys.

We were not face to face with  infinity.
We would not venture in the highlands.
We would just fall like the cyclone tree.

A cyclone tree falls but does not get up.
It is lumber for  city’s furniture interior.
Timber hardly knows it was upright tree.


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