Bharat     by  Kristy Merrill jerusha000@aol.com

ancient magic sings in the fertile wind
and weaves the waving boughs
into silence -- the cattle

tread quietly along the sacred roads, past
marble temples graced with vine
and faded gold -- the Buddha

quietly smile in their humble shadows;
all wise, gentle, round-bellied,
and tall -- the child

plays his stringed sarinda softly
beside the slow, green Ganges
and sings -- the Brahman

paints his white tilak with steady hand,
praying to the Supreme Soul for
his Karma -- only in Baharat

does the slow, green Ganges flow, and
Buddha smile in shadows while
the cattle tread the road.

   
 

Kristy Merrill grew up on a quiet dairy farm on the wind-blown Snake River desert in southeast Idaho. She started writing poetry and fiction at a very early age, inspired by nature and the books she read. She currently lives in Utah, close to the Rocky Mountains, and works for a major computer company. Her hobbies include writing, traveling, reading, theater, and going to movies.

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