Read Poem: Azmat’s Minuet, by Chandrani Banerjee

I met an old and mellow writer who spoke of artesian wells and anonymity,
his calligraphy was luminous,
his blotting paper lay unused.
The sugarcane juice was relegated to the back burner
so emerged the blue note that side stepped into a bebop.
His caramelized typewriter turned a mint green.
Outside, the amphitheater looked spectacular in the moonlight,
he sang- Let the wheels of rhapsody keep on turning.

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film. View all posts by poetryfest