I lie on;
the patterning grass,
the blinding light,
falling on my squirming eyes,
grateful to be alive;
as I listen to;
the koel's dying chime.
The light dances;
on my body,
like spots on a feral cat,
as the branches;
swoop,
and the leaves;
rustle,
in the summer breeze.
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Author:
krutarth (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: December 1st, 2021 23:56
- Category: Nature
- Views: 9
Offline)
Comments2
surrealist, narrative?
a cacophonous bridging of genres
ambitious poetry, yet
the poet, clearly respects their art
by exemplifying
their wordsmithing eloquence
with such sincerity,
a great read!
thanks for choosing to share
I love it and the touch of India with it's koel......
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