The Great Thar
A sentence-long poem about form
A fistful of sand,
Like a head full of lies
That empties into
A cold desert rose
Like a warm sunny day
That matures into
A dune marked by tyres
Like a child wearing rags
That tumbles into
A well-hidden well
Like a prized ocean shell
That springs up into
A stream full of mud
Like a dry fitful nap
That withers into
A fawn-yellow dream
Like a great big balloon
That flattens into
A hot desert storm
Like a thought staying on
That lodges in to
Make room for its kin
Like the guest at the inn,
Like a mark on the skin:
Gives shape to the hand.
Water takes its form
As is the norm.
Experiences unite us. I believe words can provide these experiences. The Poet is just one of many ways to share them.
The Poet fuses my reality and imagination using rhythm and rhyme.
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