Unlike the silent sheet
of morning mist
or the shroud of fog
leading evening into night
woodsmoke is a blanket
spreading like a story
raconteured by a fire's crackle - twigs telling
how tree droppings were brought home
bought free by poverty
to smoke and slowly cook up
small helpings on big plates
for cavernous little mouths
gobbling morsels
seasoned with lots of smoke.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
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About Me
- Anand Vishwanadha
- Hello and welcome! I am someone who is passionate about poetry and motorcycling and I read and write a lot (writing, for me has been a calling, a release and a career). My debut collection of English poems, "Moving On" was published by Coucal Books in December 2009. It can be ordered here My second poetry collection, Ink Dries can be ordered here Leave a comment or do write to me at ahighwayman(at)gmail(dot)com.
Take A Look See
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Meet Annie the author8 years ago
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Poems online3 years ago
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Alice Munro: Marathons in Sprint5 months ago
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Another Rakshabandhan – without any suraksha2 months ago
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Dreaming of Ladakh10 months ago
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An Even Dozen4 years ago
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Indian in Space: A phony Socialist trick12 years ago
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Recipe – Easy Apple Halwa4 years ago
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Love the manifestation of thoughts on woodsmoke. :)
ReplyDeleteLakshmi again (RTMC)
Thanks again, Lakshmi
ReplyDeleteHi, Sarthak here, I read all ur poems....especially like this one for its social context...and the beautiful use of metaphor.... wud be interesting if u can take this idea forward...
ReplyDeleteHi Sarthak, glad that you liked the poem. Don't know what you mean by taking the idea forward. Do explain!
ReplyDelete