Friday, 1 May 2020

Herons of hope
























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


4 comments:

  1. 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!

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  2. I like the description of flesh and bones "heaving under ashes".

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  3. I feel very much that this is what you really have the capacity to see only in solitude.. loved the concluding stanza especially.

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  4. There are herons of memories
    They 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

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