Waterdrops Leaves shimmer like green candle flames on wooden branches Waterdrops, the size of two rupee coins thrum against glass panes – the notes of a lullaby. Dusk rolls a velvet carpet for the moon to coat stars with milk at the mountain tip, listen to the melody of water. Sleep, a dragonfly alights, knowing it is warm in the folds of silence. The grey sky lowers her feet on the uneven marble floor bracing to land in a puddle. The moon has turned out dry. Her white face untouched by waterdrops.
Preeth Ganapathy lives in Bengaluru, India. Her work has appeared or
is forthcoming in a number of avenues such as Origami Poems Project,
The Buddhist Poetry Review, Better Than Starbucks and Young Ravens
Literary Review. She is also the winner of Wilda Morris’s July 2020