We discuss liquidity.
I hear the liquid song
of magpie-robin.
We talk of cashflow.
I see a blue-grey river flow
through deepened gorges,
catching white flecks of sun.
Someone mentions income streams.
How cool the playful burbling brooks
sliding down mountainsides
transparent water slips on rocks
sprinkle of pink and mauve
balsam, wet heads bobbing.
What should be the rate of growth?
The parched earth grows
a lush green carpet
overnight in response
to yesterday's thundershower.
You talk of the business cycle.
Leaves turn gold and fall away.
Blushing buds on bare branches,
then thick verdant canopy
awaiting the next cycle
of autumn, winter
spring and summer.
In their opinion,
a tax holiday..
The mist clears
my feet trod dew
dry Sal leaves
crackle..
© Alaka Yeravadekar
nice thought!
ReplyDeletehmm..
ReplyDelete:)
Haah!
ReplyDeleteI can relate to the idea!
smart thoughts,
ReplyDeletewelcome back.
A++
accountancy is something i am bad in but then you made it sound so beautiful.. here's my potluck.. http://fiveloaf.wordpress.com/2010/04/27/cheesecake/
ReplyDeleteI can read the accountancy on your poem..well written poem
ReplyDeletewonderful opening. thank you.
ReplyDelete