Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

in a field of red flowers
the sun bent and bled
tears of gold

the world is made of letters
of fire and bindi dots
the mountains of third eyes

streets of dead writing
wander the vast silences
looking for colored mirrors

flutes lure the cobra
of illusion, through the maze
as the last dying rays finger the holes

elephants walk through the temple
and listen to elephant gods
that once offered their wisdom

old books float down rivers of time
and dream of Gopi girls along the banks
dancing with the moon in a monsoon

the Rig Veda begins with poetry
on how to find the Soma in drops of paradise
oh, life and death, reincarnation

the poem that cannot help but come to
and pass into, through

lots of cool imagery....especially fond of

flutes lure the cobra
of illusion, through the maze
as the last dying rays finger the holes

all so beautiful
with an invitation to listen to the unsaid continuation

The poem feels like the mystery that I feel when I read about India in the old English books . The imagery paints all those pictures in old national geographic magazines in my memory mind I would read and dream of going to sea ,just to go to India , never did ,but still dream.