Maybe I’ve always chosen the cloth monkey over the wire one, tazing myself with absorption Maybe I chewed the apple straight to the cyanide Maybe I queued behind myself, ouroboros once or twice or ten times over Maybe I’m Sisyphus pushing my own boulder back down the mountain Might I follow through with this, these […]
Across the Atlantic
:: Poetry from across the world. Poetry knows no borders or nations. Indian Review bring you more poetry to interact with poets and readers in the border less zone of poetry. Read, enjoy and do share the joy of literature.
He has saved her from four lanes of traffic on the Inner Ring Road of Domluru brushed her black coat to a sheen, and dressed her up, starting at the tip of curved upward horns, she could hook the yellow moon with, to her well-trimmed hooves that were the nails of a princess, wrapping her […]
He squats blowing life into coals of the ubiquitous shallow bowl to heat his fifty year old iron. He pushes his table cart from block to block where he is expected like a friend by those who need him to press their shirts and pants. He is unreflective, modest, smiles benignly if you greet him, […]
Beautiful spirit. Your monsoon gardens fall from skies. Providing rice paddies of wonder. And wisdom peninsulas in open fields. You blow through reeds in river flats. Temporal, finite, still. Your children wade and laugh in ashes of dead. And ashes wash wisdom on children. Life’s circle complete. Lost are found.
On the eve of mourning. Ganga moonlight shimmers. Hallowed soul… ancient spirits. Steps falling into water. Hazy, lazy, rolling. Completeness, full circle… transcendent. Circled blood red sun. Bells clanging, clanging. Dust to dirt and dirt to dust… dependent. Ever changing, ever remaining, always the same.