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The Images Alone

Rating: 2.4
Scarlet as the cloth draped over a sword,
white as steaming rice, blue as leschenaultia,
old curried towns, the frog in its green human skin;
a ploughman walking his furrow as if in irons, but
as at a whoop of young men running loose
in brick passages, there occurred the thought
like instant stitches all through crumpled silk:

as if he'd had to leap to catch the bullet.
A stench like hands out of the ground.
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COMMENTS
Rezaul Amin 29 December 2018
Beautiful poem......
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