Ratnarao’s short verse

In the rock lay my lovely child-God
Who was born today morning.
There is this saffron-robed monk
Under the folds of water in the rock
Lighting the perfumed camphor for him
In the dark recesses of my mind
Whenever the orange sun is missing.

We try our poetry daily
Under the pale sky
With fluffy clouds
And silver-lined streams.
In the river evenings
Men too get thrown in
On the river bed, pale
But glowing in shapes
Their textures tell-tale
In the dusk of the camera.
The camera speaks poems
As the sun’s gold grows
And the river shimmers.