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this poem was originally written for Writer Monk's creative writing contest titled
"The Peacock's Tail," February 18, 2026
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ At dawn, the peacock unfolds his ocellated fan~ a tail with a thousand spots blinking open, each iris a universe spun from sapphire and jade. He’s a venerable avian creature who once danced on temple steps where Krishna’s flute still trills, and Saraswati’s forgotten wisdom clings to his quills. Christians once buried mosaics with his likeness, a thousand eyes staring up from catacomb walls, each plume a scripture~a symbolic promise of resurrection: this body is not the end. I watch him parade through dawn’s sunlight, untouched, his peacock’s tail dragging stars behind him like a bridal veil. You may read the related memoir vignette at: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/summer_of_the_peacock_13620
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