The engine misfired, explosively,
Ere its echo could fade,
A clap of thunder rent the air,
From, wings of startled birds.
Goggle-eyed with panic en-masse,
That horde of feathered folk,
Ascended skywards in ragged puffs,
A wind tattered cloud of sorts
With a wistful smile, followed their flight,
Till veils of distance grew dense,
Recalled moments of intense fear,
And dry throated hoarseness.
Security resides in the known,
A reflex of conditioning,
Numbness of chill talons clutches,
Faced with the unseen.
Flight may not lead to a sanctuary,
As an option may be unwise,
Man chased from the garden regrets,
Folly of bigoted choice.
On wingless flight perchance this soul,
Encounters a panicked bevy,
Would affirm realms of inner calm,
An untrammelled space, is a sanctuary.
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Comments: 13
Makes me want wings...................
Jackie - dear friend, you are one loyal rock! You never fail to amaze me with that gift of generosity you possess in such huge measure. Thank you.
I love the imagery in this one, really great!!!
Johnny - watching a flock of birds as they take off - particularly white pigeons, against the backdrop of a clear blue sky do look like scattering puffs of cloud. Thank you for your ever supportive compliment.
Shruthi - I have known the pleasure of flying (I'm an ex-glider pilot) and the space between earth and sky is absolute serenity!! However, even more serene is the space within ourselves what we often drift into when totally relaxed - that space is a true sanctuary. Thank you for always being so appreciative.
form of verse from you Vinay in your great absence !!!