father of rain-drops
those
who walk through the full-to-the-brim river
with dusts in their feet
are not so much good people
as being a part of the waves
they are all fundamentalist
all around them there is
far-off water of peace
getting down from the back door
you may hide the talkativeness of your tonsil
in the shower of rain
you may taste
the earning of the march
the morning of the fishes
the mark of the void
and call of the alarmed heart
the sun-shine
that is as cold as e = mc2
comes to take away everything
putting them into a shopping-bag
he is said to be the father of rain-drops
Poetry by murari sinha
Read 374 times
Written on 2010-05-25 at 03:19
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