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Pot of Gold

tell you what's gold
to the poet - it is when
he is walking in
the bamboo groove
and all of a sudden
the swivelling leaves
become friends, lipsing
welcome, their hands
doing a Thai dance
the sharp tipped fingers
in rows, waving, all over

tell you when the poet
has struck gold -
it is when the sea rushes
to shore, one luminous line
toppling over the other
metaphorising the the sun
and sky in dazzling ink
- that unreachable they are
they could be brought down
to swim and play with us
teal blanket and fiery shimmering ball
- tangoing, waltzing, galloping,
circling and and heaving in estacy

tell you when the poet
has found his pot of gold -
it is when his words find
their ways into everybody's heart
in such a pleasant flow -
crystal clear vantage wine -
the reader thinks he is writing
a part of each of them
and his brain cant help
sipping each word up
to revitalise itself

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