A Winter Song From India - Poem by Neeti Singh
The slow winding march
of bird-song and leaves
on sunny winter afternoons.
The heavy blanket of peace
upon the glistening black coat
of my dog, sunning.
A pair of bulbuls sits wing to wing
tossing upon a branch, growing
silently with the spinach and the lawn.
Silvery dragonflies light and liliting,
against the greenness of thought.
And a dreamy blue sky
opens up above,
in a giant shimmering yawn.
Catch the sun O catch the sun!
The fledgling breeze has fallen flat, upon her stomach!
Gathering herself once more
she will flop, she will soar,
with wings, with leaves, and bird-call:
to form a growing academy -
a gutteral heave,
that shimmering spreads
and takes the earth
in a surround sound
to another strange climax in movement.
Music has become monastic,
the sky a large-domed temple
has crazed the priestess:
the straggle-bearded pixie breeze.
Nighted tonight Ms. Pixie will
* * *
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