How must I give
The taste of my gloom
As sun sets by the porch
Towards the western end
As I take a move forward
Swathed in semi darkness
A golden glint by an old utensil
Placed at the corner
Smiles;
And
Does a vanishing act
Slivering the light of the moon
By the dark branches
Of my garden tree
By continuing to use the site, you agree to the use of cookies. more information
The cookie settings on this website are set to "allow cookies" to give you the best browsing experience possible. If you continue to use this website without changing your cookie settings or you click "Accept" below then you are consenting to this.
A highly imaginative surrealist poem.
Glory of the moon reflected by the polished vessel presented perfectly.