Granite is stone, blue black like Krishna,
That provokes feelings, hard on fingers

But silky in core, in hues like a July rain.
It is Krishna’s belly full of his flute music

By the river of ripples flowing from trees
With rain and wind as in a moonless sky.

You play on it and sing mountain tunes.
The more you chisel granite , silkier it is.


About nisheedhi

Retired banker with poetry and photography as chief interests
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