Turmoil

The night spreads

Like sultry essence

Of bare desires

Like subtle scent

Of wild flowers.

In these dark hours

Pain leaves the body

Like free soul.

And

Restless poet hears

Strange sounds

Of the waves

Of the forest

Of the pebbles

Of the rain

Of silent sobs

And

A poem is born!

And relaxed poet is restless again....

Anita Sabharwal