The Dance

Words are dried up
Gone is the passion
The colures
The scroll
The thoughts
The flow

What I was there
In those
Ditches
Caves
Cyclones
Dungeons?

The crazy fish
Vibrant in the hues of water
So turbulent
No footprints even trail behind
They just fly
And announce their arrival

Who was he?
Whose cozy nadir beckoned?
Whose being was bedecked with playful springs?
Who made silent moon dance

Luminous words appeared out of withered winds

“Naach”