Far from the City
Far from the CityFar from the city,
a veiled mountain.
Beneath the mountain,
a river murmuring along.
Upon its waters
floats
a secret boat.
Beneath an ancient oak
at the mountain's summit,
the me
of countless births
still sits in meditation.
Its trance
has yet to break.
A Sliver of Sky
A young woman sits
on a chair on the balcony.
Another
is brushing her hair.
Two kindred souls,
absorbed in their stories.
A sliver of sky
watches them.
The Wall's Story
A son in his father's arms,
the mother takes a photograph.
A son in his mother's arms,
the father takes a photograph.
Mother beside father,
the son takes a photograph.
Behind every photograph,
standing upright,
is
a white wall.
The Wall's Story
Towards the Day of Freedom
At noon,
a tree plays the piano
in the marshland.
When night falls,
a manuscript
of stars and braided hair.
I walk,
holding the hand
of a hailstorm,
towards
the Independence Day
of wild turmeric.
A Little Day
Inside my breast pocket,
a little day.
In its possession,
a vast sky.
There,
I take flight
as a bird.
Childhood
When
the colour blue
waits
for the yellow bus,
it acquires
another name:
childhood.
The Boats That Never Learned to Sink
I choose,
upon the turbulent waters,
those radiant boats
that have never learned
what it means
to sink.
The Hands of Death
My being
has been planted
with flowers upon flowers.
Now,
in the hands
of a mosaic-made death,
nothing
remains.
Poetry by sinha murari
Written on 2026-09-25 at 03:58
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
