Kumortuli

The soil from the brothel house,

The potter went on begging, a handful,

Of dust to be mixed in the clay of Ganges,

The autumn gust flows bringing the,

Essence of her arrival, the potter’s time,

The air is rich with the aroma of wet clay,

The straws, the bamboos, the dust and day,

All is ready for their artist hands to play,

The idols are plenty to be made…

 

*Monalisa Joshi*

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s