From wood to wood
teak faces painted red
I wash your feet
with salt from heaven's rim.
I observe
the eye of god
from our window I
witness
the carving of sorrow
it sprouts from Shiva's
black hair, the Ganga
seeps from it like a serpent.
to the temple
we go
complaints like cigarettes
in the stub box
smoke suffocates our hearts
so that we can offer
god only dead things.
Author's Note: I would like to thank Vemma-Writes (Kiradog234 and SpongieQ) for your votes and support. :-)
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Shy Anger
PoetryA collection of poems digging into the emotions and experiences that we sometimes try to hide - from love to anxiety to anger and disappointment.
