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
A highly imaginative surrealist poem.
Glory of the moon reflected by the polished vessel presented perfectly.