Golden Bowl
I dream of a pipal tree that grows
at the foot of Banasura Hill,
miles beyond the fishing village
I once called home.
Here, I rest in her long, sweet shade
and sing the Kabini River’s song.
Here, in the face of a full summer moon,
I sit with an empty golden bowl.
Published in Muse India
Copyright © Sri Lal | Year Posted 2023
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