smell

I smell the field
south of my old house.
I smell the green paddy crops
over its bosom.
I smell the smell
so dearly.
I smell the water's
smell that ran along
the canal across it.
I smell the frogs and
small fish that
wink at me.
I drink the smell
of each and every thing
that belonged to the field.
I sip the fragrance of
the moments
I left there in the field
and I came this far.
The smell leads
me into the core of my living.
Leads me into
the heart of my breath.
The smell urges me to
explore the crimson moments
I flourished with.
When smells come flitting,
flow into and fill
my nostrils,
I see the most beautiful
incarnation of life.





Poetry by Mukul Dahal
Read 513 times
Written on 2006-11-02 at 14:50

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Mark J. Wood
I haven't been there, but now I have.
2006-11-02