the village woman at mustard fields by the lake
that day took a detour with a handful of noon
spilled pot wet
her torso shining
she was restoring her breath
under a boulder of tryst
from a trail through the field
when i neared her
she pranced at the crushing leaves
& paced away tittering
her swaying hip
lurching brass on the hip
i mumbled over her ringing anklets
she arched and smiled
waved and turned back
the woman of the village
faded in the vast of yellow bloom
back in a clutch of an unnamed demon
who saps their limbs
and drains their time
lurching brass on the hip i mumbled over her ringing anklets she arched and smiled waved and turned back........with a handfull of noon...... mystery is in your coinage of words trying to express the inexpressible........ that was my feeling as i read your poem.. thank u dear poet. tony
Write comment. Great start, Utpal. Read my poem, Love and Iust. Thanks
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful rendition of words to utmost justice — lovely and very passionate write. I feel inspired by your style of writing. Remain enriched.