A broken vessel
Looks like a well
Bottomless, rimless pit
A broken shell
Has water full
Of residue from
Three rivers
One is dried up
Second needs to be born
Finding it’s way
Down the winding mountain
Third river being
Cluttered and unclean
Boil that water
Purify the filth
Redo the base,
Recover the edges
Dry it and save it
For future to shine
In the clear water
Undo the clutter
For the birds
For the butterflies
To flutter their wings
Carrying souls with a ‘Can do’ spirit
On some days nothing seems to be right
Sometimes things go hazy or dull
Wishing it was shining bright
Day goes helter skelter
No reason or rhyme
Don't complain
Grin and bear
Dreamer
Gleam!
It’s a story of a well
In a remote place where the kings dwell
Girls couldn’t be in a shell
No matter it is three
Or a week into thirty three
It’s a girl, a Shree
While still in growing spells
Tissues and organs with tiny little cells
Bodies that can’t hear bells
Pulled out of slumber
From the mother's number
A bed of dark umber
There are thousands
Hanging in the deep seated bands
With no legs or hands
Into the earth's womb
They travel into their dark tomb
Mom can not even comb
If by chance you hear
Baby girl’s cries, as the winds tear
With softness of a shear
‘Ma Lakshmi! the baby’s here!’
Alas in her world lasting a mere
Couple of cries to hear…
She is sent home
Into the milky ocean, with an Aum
Chanting as she drowns
Little does she know
The wells In that village show
Through the wind or snow
Not only to God’s name
But to the stars and soundless game
Those keep dumping the fame
There is no hiding
No, nothing dreading from abiding
It’s going sliding..
