The Stars Were Milking The Cows Poem by Raj Dronamraju

Globe can't bend nor end
Nor get beyond sun drenched doldrums
Wherein fathers sing made up surreal songs to their children as lullabies

Twilight can't throw up doubts (no matter how hard it tries)
Like puppets hitting each other with sticks
And playacting adulthood with touched nerve displays

Perhaps outside the compartment
No one will question an absence of belief
And imagination's free range facade is given permission to roam
In order to produce what is normally found among the personal affects of the mentally ill and the artist

The stars were milking the cows
One side interacts with the other in place of an absent middle
Swollen eyeballs, sniffling nasal quality to a statement of protest

I won't give it back
And in doing so and being vocal about it
Won't impart false hope or easy answers