Midnight’s Poem-7 Two rivers encircled the moonbeam podium And there she is sleeping like a jasmine sheet, my dead grandmother. She use to sing random songs of meaninglessness At mid night She dares to peep in to the deep darkness At the near by Ghat to see How ancient goddesses come to take secret bath She collected a stock of aroma and sky of wanders from there. She loves to wear jasmine on her silver locks Giving a damn to the idea that she is a widow She sings, she dances, she rejoices Her midnight songs permeate blood in the life. Here she talks to the moon and to the goddess Here she whispers her jasmine tale in a mid night poem.
Posted on: Wed, 10 Jul 2013 18:02:31 +0000
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