one day in March

One day in march
I marched these streets
tearing every page of my notepad
splattering my poetry
like blood in battlefield
but none looked at me
my words were foreign
my steps were foreign sound

One day in march
i marched these streets
slinging my old blue
Signature Guitar
i sang my song of Seaons
but none heard me
my words died in the sound of their motorcycles
my strings were too old
to make an audible sound

One day in march
I roped my own neck
and jumped down from a lamp post
unlike shri tomba
then the city was frozen
beneath my toes
No chaos No noise
they all looked up
at my feet

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