Friday, October 16, 2009

the nest

drifting strands of music
rustles the grass
in green meadows painted in the sky
.
ruffling my feathers as I gather

twigs of your thoughts
one after another after another
.
dry, dusty and brittle
.
softening them
with taste of our wetness
lingering in my beak
.
weaving a nest
in one nook of
the old sacred tree
.
where our silences
pause to listen
to dreams making love

.

3 comments:

(¯`•._.•[Raaji]•._.•´¯) said...

I love the last stanza! :-)

Preeti said...

beautiful...

gathring dry, brittle twigs of thoughts and then softening them with the lingering wetness...

beautiful...

sift said...

i like this one. But this sort of morning-evening-dusky imagery is something new in your writing. The dark, foreboding thing in your poetry is not present here.

But I love the pauses in the silence here:-)