Thursday, October 08, 2009

Bring me home

My beak under my wing
I can hear the raindrops on my roof still
the bright orange,cutting the sky
some shade of yellow I can see still

Bring me home
to the shade of green
to the warmth of a heart
the cavity in the tree bark

The color of my skin,
on the touch of my fingers ,
the walls of the house,
like my flesh and blood,
come alive.



4 comments:

Saibal Barman said...

I have often found myself intensely subdued by an inexplicable sense where I keep on suspecting myself on whether I can comprehend the poetic thought as objectively as a reader must do or do I succumb to a more subjective conclusion...and I float on in a space that shows me some buoys of nostalgia, some of destined prospect of life, some of artist's passion to mix colours of imagination to colours of life that blur truth in both to offer an illusion as magical as the Truth is; and finally, some dancing ones--hiding and reappearing upon rhythmic waves of life--which carry neither hope nor despair but a promise of music that binds life to its all illusive existence.
Whatever it maybe, in essence; I felt a great sense of exploration of the self so finely flowing down amongst those words and moods. That's so inspiring !
Regards,

Shilpa Shastry said...

Jui, you should have been born in a different age. The imagery in your poems are filled up with nature, leaves, trees, greenery,tree, raindrops....You remind me of the Romantic poets.

Sid said...

Reading you after a long time...
you really play well with colors (as before) ... bring them to life.. and relate them to feelings very well...

best

sush said...

Hey- I just happened to check your blog today after I noticed your name listed below my daughter's[shes Jui too] in Indiblogger!!
And such touching posts you have...mind blowing