TREASURE HUNT Poem by Prabodh Parikh

The captain of the game of dredging up
castaway words,
having weathered all the sea-storms,
having awoken,
having trawled among the blocks of printing presses,
and hauled back,
having found the golden pulse
of sunken galleons,
having waved the peace-flag of poetry
is returning
to port.

The poet
who reaches where no sun can reach
laughs, the blighter,
and says the fun was worth it.



Stillwater, 1974.