Theme: River

Om, Jai Ganga Maiyya

She moves
As a quiver
In the morning mist
Of January
Over hillocks
Of slender slots
Hiding the wind
In her bosom.
She holds a truss
Of English bridges
And through them
Sings madrigals
In many voices
Strange but sweet
To bewilder
Countless pilgrims.
She smells of fish,
Of flowers,
Of spray,
Of vapor,
Of wild weeds,
Of innocent sprout,
Of grapes and
Of forests.
She is my
My charm,
My medicine,
My cult,
My charisma,
My mother,
My mind.
My goddess
Of the beady mouth,
And catalytic,
Grant me just
One more wish
And I shall
Be free.


More By  :  Mukesh Williams

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