The waterfall

Nothing about it is permanent except
Going over edge in a Gondwana plain
A ninety feet drop in an abyss of spray
A fog of hell fire and brimstone frame
Serrated like winter sky , a green bush
Hanging slowly, now here , now gone.

Go down to its hellish depth,in its fog.
Look your eyesight up to a pure white
Streak from old sky, a permanent sky
Holding no permanent water ,but fall
A fall dizzily impermanent, set in blue.


About nisheedhi

Retired banker with poetry and photography as chief interests
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