When rains come down to flood the
town
And earnest citizens really ought’er
try to make and keep things sort’er
dry…
I make water
Saline, roots tangled beneath;
wings
weaved out of clouds
fail
to catch up with free swans,
and
as they glide past, clouds,
they
rain down back to saline,
roots
tangled beneath.
When
all search firm roots,
I
dig, dig out roots
to
weave wings with tangled roots,
to
uproot;
"Wings weaves out of clouds" beautiful..I think each of us has the desire to fly and at times our tangled roots keep us from finding our wings. Thanks for writing this!
ReplyDeleteMake lemonade with the lemons, Sreeja. Nice.
ReplyDeleteI too'd like to be flying with those swans but instead I'm down here digging up roots so I can try to make some wings. I'd rather have had feathers.
cool...making wings out of the roots is a cool thought
ReplyDeleteand hey whatever it takes to fly again eh?
smiles.
interesting how you wrap around to saline...
Maybe we don't have wings but we soar with our imagination anyway. You've imagined a lovely poem with your tangled roots and clouds.
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed this and it's interesting the way in which you brought repetition to certain words.
ReplyDeleteI warmly greet you and invite you to watch a new photo album on my blog. Have a nice weekend!
ReplyDeleteYour words ... have left me mesmerized always, and the trend continues :-)
ReplyDelete