Birth of a butter thief

the future blue skinned butter thief
he was born the night before ,in jail
for a crime mom had not committed.
he was sky blue everywhere and rain
not a swaddling baby in a jail’s straw
with wise men all the way from East.

the butter he had on lips was a cloud.
you too would be cloud upon his flute
its finger holes breathing your dance
your eyes softly closed to the breeze.
you are not besotted woman by river,
just a nut dancing to camphor flame,
no gender issues about the prankster
who ate a muddy universe in mouth.

(yesterday was Krishna Astami, when we celebrate the birth of Krishna)

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s