Monday, April 30, 2012

The deep

The hands are tired
From clappping
For those
Who leave little for others,
The throat is hoarse
From singing praises
To someone whose miracles
Include taking away
The little there is left,
The feet are weary
Of the mountain path
Leading to an empty shrine,
The eyes keep looking at the skies
Hoping for signs of cracks
The ears want to hear
The rumble of volcanoes in the deep
Which wants to give up the dead.


P. Venugopal said...


Prabhakar said...

Venu, thanks. good to see you. I posted some comments on your blog but they have not appeared.

P. Venugopal said...

I don't know, why, Prabhakar. I have been a bit in non-blogging mood for quite sometime, but have been reading your poems. Work tempo has changed here.