and I'll gift you a poem.
My old friend is silent
but generous.
Here I am he indicates,
take as many as you want.
I caress the fabric of his words,
warm memory guiding me
into channels deep,
the tributaries Shiva's matted tresses.
His words are already poetry
how can I gift him one myself?
But I can try.
I'll start with messengers
in the form of dolphins in legends,
and also poems..
They carry charms
from writer to reader
Not so reliable, perhaps
not the kind to say one thing and mean just that,
but more like diamonds that glint blue, green and even red, depending on the light.
My friend's Hungey Tide
devoured me whole
I dive into his words every now and then,
immerse myself in tide country
lush with mangroves, tigers, crocodiles and history.
An old book is a fond friend
one can turn to as well, no?.
in different ti e
so poems mean different things to different readers in different lights,and points in their life
bringing and taking
only
the meaning changes in each exchange
en
his words are already poetry
how can I gift him one myself
tide country
a land submerged half the year
rising and falling to the vagaries of the monsoon
she falls into murky depths
it could be reeds or crocodiles that grasp at her ankles
bon bibi
tigers
channels
irawaddy dolphin
tree
crushing weight
camps
would an old book count as aile friend
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