A lost tryst with the sky is the first warning sign
the bird in me misses. Wings-at-rest for too long
cause more exhaustion than flying nonstop
across continents. Resuming the flight is nothing but
exhaling dregs of deflating desire. With blobs of
disobliging courage I limp over to a perch,
waiting for a tested nest. The morning listens.
My hysterical wings flutter between roosts.
Like meditation, homing takes time to master.
Migrating is vagarious. Just like the mind.
Across palm-flanked lakes, rivers bathed in
aureate sunsets, markets packed with
sardine-thick throngs and malls that lost steam
mid stream, I shop for repose but cumulate
dust and grease. It's been quite the trip.
I had to look up "vagarious" :-)
ReplyDeletelove the imagery in this poem.. especially the line:
"Like meditation, homing takes time to master."
New word for me as well, Charu. No end to learning. Thank you for reading. I blame this poem on a missed flight. :-)
ReplyDeleteah, that's a nice twist in the story... (but sorry you missed your flight)
Delete‘Like meditation, homing takes time to master’. Beautiful!
ReplyDeletePS: I too had to look up ‘vagarious’. Nice touch :)
Thank you, Deepti. :-)
DeleteA lovely poem that works in so many layers. My mind is a meandering river is what I thought when I was younger. But I think this describes it so much better. “ It’s been quite the trip! “ Thank you, Bhaswati.
ReplyDeleteI'm so glad to read your comment, Geethanjali. Thank you!
ReplyDeleteSo much beauty in this poem Bhaswati. Your phrase "blobs of disobliging courage" really speaks to me today, a restless night having left a dull weariness.
ReplyDeleteThis one definitely needs to be read multiple times for all the gems to uncover themselves.
I hear you, Jayasree. I had a similar night last night. Thank you so much for your kind comment; it means a lot.
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