rebellion ignites in the hollow of trees sway and march into the morning mist
nap on summer sand and the ground devours dreams
herons rise on wings of smoke as rivers split into fire and silence
hollowed but hallowed where’s the sense in that
eavesdropping on the conversation between crashing waves and the barnacled face of the coast
luminous frogs leap through the bog devouring any evidence of light
the tantric fire does not burn it simply engulfs and drowns you in ecstasy
along the pale sea icebergs drift like forgotten temples
all is art until shadows and tendrils take over warm limbs
a decree of cosmic proportion tumbles from the lonely night sky
elancharan gunasekaran 