the old ones say: the sun and moon are fiendish illusions to keep man from reaching for the stars or the eyes of the great cosmic bird whose eternal flight churns the glitter seas while most swear by the tale that night comes when a sky giant cursed by the gods above swings his mighty axe cutting down an enchanted tree of light when the deed is done upon the felled trunk he lays down his tired axe and slumbers deeply by its side only for it to be fully grown from stump to a majestic tree bleeding light into our world by the time he wakes again he picks up his axe and swings with renewed vigor at the tree hoping to cut it down once and for all but the question remains what if one day the giant walks free of his curse or if the tree has lost its will to grow would darkness then consume our world forever?
Tag: poetry
ordnance inbound: a winged god dive bombs into a sea of grey
spring after dawn birdsong in quick bursts of gunfire
implode on impact: the silence of day collides with a body of dreams
the body wakes from the coldfire coursing through veins remaking the flesh and transforming the mind of man into serpentlike singularity
to the mynah i say: anatomy separates us but dreams connect us
the pilgrim does not discriminate between quiet and absolution the path is all that matters
half moon: between the roil of waves unfinished futures are shaped
spring: gently made of the desires we yearn to hold
illuminated by quiet street lamps a ball of mist dances on its axis
elancharan gunasekaran 