A Poem I Am…
written by: Sharmila Mitra
@SharmilaMitra3
As the years are being wrapped up
like bales of hay or grass,
sun-warmed and sweet-smelling,
I feel that I am perhaps changing
into a piece of poetry,
beautiful not in flesh but in the art of living,
my eyes with the gleam of clear teardrops reflecting sun, moon, stars;
my lips hiding a sweet smile behind the curl of disillusionment.
When I am gone to play with my lovely gone fur-babies,
a few words will be seen scattered here and there,
in a gravel road, on grass, hanging on a cable with drops of rain…
or crushed to a fine dust under a poet’s shoes,
while he has no idea that he has stepped
on a dead poem’s petals.
But I shall only fly in with crisp mornings and
fly out with deep red sunsets,
happy to be a blur amidst heaps of clouds…
I may come down as a rain drop and sit on your eyelash for a moment;
you may wonder what makes you want to weep!
Sharmila Mitra
Latest posts by Sharmila Mitra (see all)
- A Poem I Am… - August 30, 2022
- Time That Is Gone - April 17, 2020
