At the Peacock Lake

Jinju S.
M.A. English

The glassy blue of the fallen sky,
Creased with myriad ripples
That bound forth
To the waiting arms of the shore,
Like little children to their mothers,
Singing of peacocks and wild winds
That make the reeds, thickly spread
By the water's edge,
Dance in beauteous glee-
A wave of gold-tipped green.

And into my heart ecstasy drips,
Till I can swim in it-
Lake of bliss.

Night

The night speaks
In a thousand tongues
I cannot discern,
Rising above the cries of the crickets-
Midnight's minstrels.
Pale blue melting around
Feathery canopies reaching
For a trembling dawn.
Muted roars pulsating
In the night breeze
Charged with the cold
And peacock squawks.
And the swarthy goddess
Lets down her hair
And dances in a frenzy,
Punctuated with laughter
In a tongue I recognize-
Cold, hard, mirthless mockery.