empty pots in the balcony are tiny
deserts of neglect ;
barren soil holding no drops and
clinging to neglect;
lines of memory intact on each
particle of dry shingle;
dead soil of pain knows nothing of waiting for
roots
to run all through each grit making ripples of life,
so are empty hearts…
some poems doesn’t flow,
they stop dead at points of
contemplation
leaving hanging thoughts and words
of empty hearts…
let the spirit of phoenix enrich
barrenness of lands and hearts…
some poems doesn’t flow,
ReplyDeletethey stop dead at points of contemplation... that's so true.. beautifully said.
Thank you!
Deletesome poems doesn’t flow, they stop dead at points of contemplation leaving hanging thoughts and words of empty hearts…
ReplyDeleteGosh this pierces straight through the heart..so wonderfully profound!💜
Thank you Sanaa!
DeleteI love the line, "dead soil of pain knows nothing of waiting for roots
ReplyDeleteto run all through each grit making ripples of life,
so are empty hearts…" Poignant and lovely Sreeja!
Thank you so much!
DeleteYou know, I don't think I ever thought about how empty pots do resemble deserts or tiny dead fields... I don't think I will have the heart to leave another pot without an inhabitant.
ReplyDeleteYea...three dried out pots were here in our new home ...I think for a long time it has been ignored...I collected some coconut husk and some other things to give it a much wanted wholesome treatment....😊
Delete