Cloud Nine

She floats gently
In upland thickets of white peace
Sunshine when mates her
In kaleidoscopic touches
Gently shying her ilk
Impregnates tenebrous moist
Lo, their merry pour of mercy
I'm merged and vanished
Thorough the stream of bliss
All around and I'm unseen
To preach a mantra
I'm not Ramanuja
Atop this hill
Moksha to self my own
I'd but say

poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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