The Gold Panner - Poem by Sadiqullah Khan
Pan the gold red, like pearls of blood,
The blood dust, O from the bounteous,
River, hitting head to the stone.
Little by little, like wet drops and broach,
Riches have toils of sweat, dungeons,
Fulcrummed by little fingers of child.
His woman had the charm of the yore,
Beating weather like, if not flown down,
The bed of nature, the inside of tent,
Was velvet of dreams, and fantastic –
On the human skin, gold is only gold,
Or the love’s ruby tucked in the ring’s eye.
-To the gold panner of Nagar
Courtesy: Sunita Jugran
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