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down, soft as a feather
from the painted wing
of the sun.
Bright bird of morning,
with plumage of red-gold
streaked with purple shadow.
Soaring along the blue arc
of sky, toward its peak
bathed in fire:
the flight of hours,
beating on blazing wings
brings us to the tyranny of noon.
White heat flashes
in sharp cruel talons,
rips out the eyes
of its prey.
Who can stare
at the pure eye
of the day's emperor
without turning blind?
Srinjay Chakravarti (srinjchak@hotmail.com)
CALCUTTA
INDIA
Poem copyright ( c ) 2003 Srinjay Chakravarti
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Poems by Srinjay Chakravarti: |
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