Thought
written by: Gautham Pradeep
A bare footed deer,
strolling down the canopy dark.
Flowers of red, yellow and orange,
covered in garlands of thorns.
Drenched in a cloak of brown,
the deer gazes at the queer patch.
His mind stagnant in thought,
his intention rendered by the innate sway.
Yet, he waits,
to watch the little petals shiver.
Tender strokes and distant tides,
he stands at the brim of youth and folly.
And yet, he gives into the beckoning,
musing at the days that were.
Engrossed in the moment,
he sits near the riverbank silent.
Smells he the winter air,
the story he scripted for the tender embrace.
A leaf of green,
dropping down to the forgiving earth.
A deathbed he envisions,
where his slender legs shall lay still.
The warm embrace of death,
after an eternity of indifference.
Thought sparks the smothering ember,
carrying him past the blinding lights.
In the dark woods he lay,
his eyes transfixed to the youth within.
A heart of his,
sinks into the chasm of remission.
Confiding in a self he seldom remembered,
he wakes up into a new horizon.
A new land where he feels the warmth of the midday sun,
a self that would forgive him.
Now, his gaze returns to the roses and salvia buds,
drenched in a newfound aroma of realization.
He lets the thorns prick him,
getting closer to the roses, bit by bit.
Engulfed by the bliss of finding his torn self,
he joins the murmuring of the morning gale.
He sees the clouds take shape,
few shades of blue hiding the bleeding within.
- Thought - September 2, 2023
- By The Plutonian Shore - November 1, 2022
- Grow Up, Slowly - May 6, 2022
