To An Ailing Daughter
The moon peeped
Through the window
When I was looking for the sun
the waterfall of light
the splash of life,
the romping sight?
Papa!
Take your brooding palms out
Look at the moon—
the breeze of beam
spraying silver beads
tinkling grace in dim…
Tend a pill of poesy for me…
lull me with silver pills.
Aily, dear!
Silver dissolving in pools of tear
The Muse’s choked
with dust of silver…
Silver-mess all around
My moon spewing silver-cough.
Where’s my sun?
The sun of the other day
fading like the moon
sipping the quarantined
silver - spoon.
Spit at my littered silver lines
wriggling vines
Wait…I am scanning the sun
to shine and sing vermilion;
remain, my moon!
Copyright © Prafulla Sahu | Year Posted 2011
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