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Cold In Their Enclave Cold In Their Enclave
by Saloni Kaul
2019-01-23 10:18:07
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Cold In Their Enclave

This time I hark after a distant sound
Dusting tall statuettes of gold.
I trace the songline to the edge of the mound
And sheer liquid gold gets sold.

I slowly chase the glinting staves
As their echoes recede.
I touch the statues one by one, meek slaves,
And in silence the acquiescing shadows all concede.


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YC2018-09-13 19:09:36
I like the composite entirety of this poem , the way it is presented and the pictorial input. Congratulations all round ! Absolutely exquisite poetry!

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