I really wanted to find the perfect pic for this poem of India's. I couldn't. But it feels incomplete without a visual and i'm no artist so here's one courtesy http://www.flickr.com/.
The listener gasps
Wonder shines
My trials are dragons
Through the shards of time.
A fluttering cloth could well
Be a sphinx
And that purple bolt
A never ending bridge.
The listener gasps
Wonder shines
My trials are dragons
Through the shards of time.
A fluttering cloth could well
Be a sphinx
And that purple bolt
A never ending bridge.
The lustful animal
Becomes a man
My passion is his blood
As he stalks the land.
The waters still
As wings take air
Her reflection catches
In Juno’s snare.
My words are all colours
The artists unpaid
This life not charmed
Just a storyteller’s lay.
5 comments:
a) That poem was interesting. Are you saying you are imagining that the is world turning on you?
b)Or more mundanely, cribbing about your lack of pay?
c)Something else entirely, that I in my limited intelligence did not catch?
wow - poetry really is all about perspective. india didn't even have a whiff of a) or b) while writing this one. and i do believe that a) is the least of her problems. she spend most of her time believing that the world is working IN her favour. so i'm going to go with the first half of c) since i do not know u to comment on your limited or not intelligence.
I dont think there's a better way to describe Rain.. in all its glory. Mythological influence adds to the dreamlike effect.when did you write this ?
who's this with the parched mind? i found this in india's papers last week.
passion drives,
irritation stalls,
Rain guides.
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