Micropoetry #18



Where I would be if you hadn’t been those celestial orbs for me, I often wonder. Your words like birds of migration take me far away where death loses its sting, becoming a classical dancer speaking in the ankle bell words. You are my Bhairav raga tuning me for the day, my afternoon soiree filling my lone soul with your music. If ever those sleepless eyes of mine like the wavy Cypress speak in a broken-nest tongue, you drag me to those whirling stars as was in the art piece.


the wind on a carnage

shreds the dark clouds

into pieces

pulling out misty autumn

intact from those clutches


Posted for Micropoetry Month: Nov 2017 #18 hosted by Thotpurge


Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United