some just came to drink
across a table of water,
others just left, pudding -
pipes in their way,
a calf sniffs to the side,
alone a bull's tusks
point to his raised trunk,
movement of myriad grey.
a flycatcher, a blue of his own,
excavated in the sky
from the sun, rests on a neem.
soap pods in patches. snakey
trunks smell a cardamom memory.
the ones that came to drink leave
for wild plantains, more come
across the water again.
~Ajay
27/12/19
YOU ARE READING
bliss station ~ poetry
Poetry~ where is your bliss station / you have to try to find it ~
