At that brief time 
When i wait 
For the alphabets 
To strike my tomb of words 
And then the reservoir of thoughts flinched
To the poetry 
In my mind with 
Short lines rip through 
Like bullets 
From a machine gun 
Then, 
The emotional cane whistles like her 
Sounds over the phone 
Through which my drums 
Beat with the tune of palms 
...