The traffic doesn't stop here
And numbers don't add up
This place
Is unexpected
And feared
Like the death of a loved one...
I give birth
To tiny trees
In the baby nursery
Of my tiny balcony alcove....
They bloom like monsoon grass
For I create each day in them.
You will never find your way
This side
or thereabouts
For the place has no address.
It's as unknown
as I am
or as outmoded
As feral love
And unplanned nature...
I don't believe
In the finality of darkness
I grow tiny suns
within my quota of lights
I want the end
As morning....
"Soul, turn orange.....Soul, turn into the colour of love"
ReplyDelete-- Federico Garcia Lorca
This is just amazing...The abrupt surge of life from within a vortex of real death was striking enough to make the reader pause awhile and think...
ReplyDeleteThis place
".,...Is unexpected
And feared
Like the death of a loved one...
I give birth
To tiny trees
In the baby nursery"
Fascinating..:)
As for the remaining part of this lovely poem, the blooming grass-lets and all.. conjure trenchant images of new budding delights through your eyes....To me, these delights appear to be none other than "us"-your brothers..
"For I create each day in them.
You will never find your way
This side
or thereabouts......"
Really fascinating.. and I am so touched.. :)
Love and regards~ Sayandeep
It feels great to come out as tiny suns instead of fiery flames.. :)
ReplyDeleteBut your soul wails with the heavy agony of the loss of dear one..
ReplyDelete"Like the death of a loved one..."
and thereafter the "turning" touches the reader's soul...And the senses bridge the gap between the poet in you and the reader in us...and we all wipe the tears off the not-so-absolute dark corner of our eyes and brace for sowing new seeds of creation.."life" as our soul brims with hopes......
Love~ Sayandeep..
"For the place has no address.
ReplyDeleteIt's as unknown
as I am
or as outmoded
As feral love
And unplanned nature..."
So very true..:( :)