Halfway through an apple,
the overwhelming sweetness,
forces you to compare.
The sky here in the evening
has streaks of pale pink of
soft ballet shoes.
But it’s never quite orange.
I think of myself as Hanuman,
leaping towards the sun.
And attempt to eat the said
fruit, hoping to kill a little
of its English sweetness.
—-
Wonderful. Reminds me of the last stanza of Yeats’ The Song of the wandering aengus.
http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/1.html
I like. There’s a nice rhythm to it and it’s just the right length.
it wud be better if hanuman would be little hanuman :-) it reminds the childhood or the innocence of a child (Its just a thought )
Amazing imagery, Neha! ( I used to have those pale pink ballet shoes, eons ago.)
….great..imagination….hanuman…and …