Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Joy Goswami

ON THE ROOF A SENSELESS CHILD. GROWING LONG

On the roof a senseless child. Growing long
its neck goes off to drink
from a faraway pond.

On the forest road from time to time the harpy calls, hypnotic.

Walking on the cloudpath around midnight,
a skeleton salesman hawking:
Curd, fresh curd . . . I think

The senseless child on the roof,
with its rockhard thirst, I keep it company,
I bring my mouth to the pond and drink –
not water but blood – I drink . . .

ON THE ROOF A SENSELESS CHILD. GROWING LONG

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ON THE ROOF A SENSELESS CHILD. GROWING LONG

On the roof a senseless child. Growing long
its neck goes off to drink
from a faraway pond.

On the forest road from time to time the harpy calls, hypnotic.

Walking on the cloudpath around midnight,
a skeleton salesman hawking:
Curd, fresh curd . . . I think

The senseless child on the roof,
with its rockhard thirst, I keep it company,
I bring my mouth to the pond and drink –
not water but blood – I drink . . .

ON THE ROOF A SENSELESS CHILD. GROWING LONG

On the roof a senseless child. Growing long
its neck goes off to drink
from a faraway pond.

On the forest road from time to time the harpy calls, hypnotic.

Walking on the cloudpath around midnight,
a skeleton salesman hawking:
Curd, fresh curd . . . I think

The senseless child on the roof,
with its rockhard thirst, I keep it company,
I bring my mouth to the pond and drink –
not water but blood – I drink . . .
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