Brown Eyes
The baker said,I want brown.
Sin-steeped chocolate sauce,
Caramel crusty and burnt,
Cashew roasted to an infinite dark.
The painter said,
I want brown.
Raw umber, tempered
With a downy fawn and spiked
With shots of bronze.
The chef said,
I want brown.
The goo off the overdone sausage,
The edge from the cinnamon stick,
The fat from the greased
Old turkey.
The farmer said,
I want brown.
Early light glinting off the wheat
The patch between the calf’s little horns
Bushels ripe in silent wait
And twilight.
Then you opened your eyes
And all fell silent.
7 comments:
Life in brown color made a good read..
I loved the farmer's brown a bit more over the rest of your browns..
SP, yes, the farmer knows brown in many true shades. But as for me, those eyes will do fine, anytime!
Spell Brown-d :) Perhaps, even brown tresses would have done the magic.. But, the eyes have it. As always a delightful read.
You are one hell of a poet!
hey Pramod, I enjoyed this thoroughly. The diversity in similarity or vice versa is a fascinating aspect of most of our lives...
Sowmya, thanks... will keep trying. Nirmala, honestly what you said went a little over my head! Thanks a lot anyway!
really nice one ps!
loved it
killer
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