The wind couldn’t convey my message

it was Shelley’s

the daffodils too couldn’t make sense

though these looked good

I failed to change any thing with

wastelandish view

only wasted words

missing native sense

in bed and body

field and farm

river and hill

gods and goddesses couldn’t be myths

nor philosophies make mind fresh

Zen proved dubious with Basho

Issa, Tagore, Aurobindo

and so many mimicking the past

I couldn’t be I in six decadeds

with childish cries

I killed my self in pieces and

buried in smoke my poetry too

–R.K. Singh