How can some moments be defined;
how flying birds be pushed to cage;
how breathing dreams in song confined,
when mortal fetters they have ravaged?
Of sunken ships I no more sing,
I only sing of birth –
waves of sorrow, low tides bring –
let me make friends with mirth!
Novelty, jubilant and infallible, triumphs
over dry, wintry ruins;
nostalgia basks in the summer sun –
a mirage of warmth sanguine –
yet, there will be rain and hail and snow
before the transition –
how can the seed, to flower, hope,
without the transformation?
So let this world bloom,
in lush and green glory;
sunken ships must make room
in pages of history…
Let your dreams and moments dance
like the flying, free birds,
for the truly poetic experiences and times… are always more than words!
© Isha Garg