They pick out moonlight
from grains of sand
that lie sprawled over a beach,
The beach that’s hidden
In the groove of a conch
used to summon and to beseech
Tired gods and strong sharp forces
That hold the world this way
Tired gods that stop and strengthen
This weary world’s decay
The moonlight is so hard to find
In that state of dark
Light does not glint or hint
Or indicate the spark
That mortal eyes now expect
and hope to see this way
But what can they do for they do not know
their gods have feet of clay
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This late night walk after a tough, rough unending day at work. I am so, so exhausted. But this...sweet chutney of wind, lane littered wit...
2 comments:
I'm sure I don't understand this poem fully. But it reads beautifully well, just like your prose does.
Thanks for the amazing posts. I'm not prone to lavish praise but I think an exception is in order. I pile up all the good printed and internet reads for the weekends and your blog figures prominently.
Thank you, Aries. :-)
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