They come and kiss me, like butterflies.
Shimmering phrases, gently drifting over the fence
as I watch, away, away from memory and mind.

I do not grieve for the unwritten line;
more of them fluttering free means a greener, shadier world.
More grass.

I remember the sight of one, as it stepped off the air
and sat itself down on the black gate. Seventeen sapphires
dropped from the silk and turned to azure ashes on the ground.

A passing ant picked, neatly, a single particle, tasted it
and turned into a jewel bug. She lives on at the top of a leaf,
waiting for a cat with cobalt eyes.

Yet, I let the winged lines go. Perhaps they will learn to know
I will never net them, perhaps they will grow me a garden
with their yellow burdens and when it blooms,
come listen to the golden guitars the breeze will play.


3 responses to “untitled

  1. Thank you!

    You have a way with words.None of them contrived,none of them out of place.


    Thank you, Abirami!

  2. why did you leave it untitled?

    you know, i don’t pick, and no disrespect intended for any of your other posts, but this one is probably the best, right up there with biglu singh.

    in retrospect though,it does seem fitting to let a poem about the beauty of the unsaid remain untitled.

    Thank you! I like it too. Wonder though – am I allowed to have favourites among my own poems?

  3. ok i admit, i dint understand all of it.
    but its beautiful!

    PS: have leaves started sprouting there already?

    You have be a little, umm, happy, to understand it. 🙂
    I am not *there* anymore. I am where the leaves have begun falling already!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s