julygz

Each night I bleed a part of my soul to her beauty,
Silken words awaken to fill up the hole to her beauty.

A lone moon is treading forth the liminal dust of evening,
The dying sun has hitched a veil of kohl to her beauty.

Is that a beeline of suitors to the bounty of her blossoms?
Garrisons failed to conquer the poles to her beauty.

I have wandered in the prisons for days and nights a million,
The holy books will offer no parole to her beauty.

Uma you who scribble such scandalous ghazals in English,
Your pencil is but dripping wet charcoal to her beauty.

32 thoughts on “Wet Charcoal

  1. A passionate, sensual expression of love and desire. Beautifully written poem, Umashankar, silken words indeed!

  2. Brilliant to the core. Your blog post is. And that’s a merit. No doubt. Whether a vice or a virtue might be a point to think.

  3. I will read your posts every morning with my coffee until I am caught up on all you have accomplished. Your work pulls the reader inside and makes the reading as real as if they were there. I believe my blood heated up while reading Wet Charcoal. The imagery is fantastic. I have never forgotten reading your story, Uma, about the monkeys. I swear, I can still hear them scream, see their fangs, and feel the fear. ~Ginene

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