In the hills
Where the slope ends
Huge rocks
As strings of sitar
To the water that flows
Haunted by village lasses
Singing to its tune
Washing clothes
And with awe the water flows
Tempts them to such an extent
Takes a plunge
Swirls
To caress them
Where the slope ends.
Dear Poet Mr Sanjay Mehta, Small but beautiful and essentially poetic! The beginning here must be to make great strides ahead |
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This poem is best read slowly, in order to digest all the imagery given and suggested. Lovely! Thank you.