is where two rivers come together ganga and yamuna clear and green
in false description of soils that are more bone the four am superpower
that you snooze off stupidly daily with index fingers of cold affection
the winds through hair a hand cuckoo sings song slipped in notes of
green crow wounds glisten your feet is dirty at sangam don't realize
that mud is ant-flood and there is so much bigger than you in confluence
hands come to=gether oddly from thumb to pinky at sangam words'
trembling bodies crumble rise faces flop quicksilver spit hovers in linger
a stage sunrises blinds away pushed a scene - a wrestling ring is left by a
cadaverous underdog with borrowed muscle who challenges the sea
mountains also and she ring finger raises to quiver the words again rise
the faces once more of gone gharials and river dolphins and gandhi
his ashes floating forming into gunshots while bulletproof butterflies
swarm in the way of a middle finger wrapping candy cloud around it.
~Ajay
7/7/19
YOU ARE READING
bliss station ~ poetry
Poetry~ where is your bliss station / you have to try to find it ~
