I stumble on rocks of ennui
Thoughts scatter and settle as
ashes
Just a pile of flesh and bones
All heaped, heaving under ashes
An old kitchen and its aromas
Ringing with folklore and fables
There are herons of memories
They possess wings of ecstasies
The dawn chorus and bougainvillea
shower
And the meadow in morning’s golden
light
Hums pleasantly from somewhere
inside
Tonight, I sleep beneath heron
wings
I enjoyed the use of metaphors in your poem, Sreeja, balanced against the concrete image of ‘An old kitchen and its aromas’. It is helpful to have folklore and fables to turn to. I love the thought of sleeping beneath heron wings!
ReplyDeleteI like the description of flesh and bones "heaving under ashes".
ReplyDeleteI feel very much that this is what you really have the capacity to see only in solitude.. loved the concluding stanza especially.
ReplyDeleteThere are herons of memories
ReplyDeleteThey possess wings of ecstasies
Memories can have a calming effect on a restless heart to help tone things down. How have you been Sreeja, Ma'am? Nice to see you!
Hank