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A Constant Martyr

[Winning is not a question when you want to be a creative writer. Those who want to read and write, know this well. Following was one of my poem entries to Rædleafpoetry India 2013 Contest.]

Something cinders constantly in every phase, a season,
an animal or a human body, a subject of commotion,
who is playing a constant martyr to raise ashes.
Between two involuted minds, dependent on each other,
third eye opens, wisely, suspectibly, dispassionately,
commission is on to locate it, under high-profile surveys.
While their bodies prepare themselves in imperial rooms,
decaying philharmonic smells lingers for quick retrieve,
adorning newly furnished walls with proper awards.
Mocking half-heartedly only, the later of martyr's life,
rising from smoke, darken in light, his ashes are scattered,
in valleys, where no survey could follow retracing steps.


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