Automaton
©Suman Shukla
Sun scorched is this barren plain,
Hot air rises
And burns every soul,
A hell-fire burns in the midst of us-all,
Scalded, injured, in ignominy
All these creatures move,
Bent bodies, stooping heads
With contorted expressions
Is how they groove.
We while away our time
Twisting and turning in our own skins,
Molting it with uncertain whims,
Until that day when Eternal beauties like you descend.
That primordial light before the concept of time emerged
Had weaved but your dress,
Blackness of the times
Before that first light blazed trail
Adorns those wave like curls,
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