by B.R. Nagpal
(New Delhi, India)
They continue to troop,
plodding through twists
As hordes of disparate entities
Coffee black faces, adults with uplifted brown hair
women clutching their babes
old men in ribs, thin legs
Step-by-step, one and all
They converge to a point
to press droplets of water
from the spring of life
that will provide them creative upsurge.
Among the huddle
was a singular man of knowledge
Bertrand Russell of the present
with a cigar in his mouth
He watched closely
reflexes in gushing water
that overflowed from the top
He was pining for the scent of ambrosia
Barred by soot
His throat clogged
He continued struggling
with prolonged smells, breaths
The learned man reached the spot
ducked his head
to drink water in its purest form
Strangely, there was revealed light
that pierced his surfaces, greyness of his mind
Luminousness has found its dwelling
Comments for Ambrosia
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