His mouth
A trap for gold
Cosmos that unfolds.
Was it Krishna,
Maybe Rama?
His mother scolds,
Keep it closed!
But when he speaks,
A galaxy lights the world.
The sun shines on beggars and poor girls
Medley of stars among rivers and storms.
Showing posts with label poetry #. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry #. Show all posts
Sunday, December 6, 2015
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