The Procession Poem by Debashree Kachari

The Procession



Cold silvery water flows hissing like a stream engine and meand towards Arctic's bosom as if it is the Nagapasha astra from the thundering bow of Indrajit.
Ripple dances to a botman's song on the honey pebbles, and on the wet stones like a drowsy crocodile. Isn't it a bride-grooms procession?

The Procession
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