Bird |

Bird

Morning is a swift delay,
An incongruity in words.

The kind that arrives all of a sudden
And vanishes,
But never truly does.

The green shrubs grow like silver
Droplets into the hum of air.

I am a large, wide mouth,
A chandelier if you must say.
I make noises when the wind strikes,
When the breeze blows.

I am a chandelier,
Passive body of diamond and stone.

The morning arrives like a bird
Upon my shoulder, ruffles its feathers
And flies away.

I stretch my five fingers and let them loose,
Each a song in the air.

My neck is striped with colors of gold.
I’m heavy and sedated like a stone.

I stretch my five fingers and try to grasp,
Hold the morning’s gasps, its uneven s i g h s.

I watch as the day knocks, rushes into me
With its haughty head
And I still stand,
Morning’s treasures between my soft palms.

Morning is a swift delay,
A strange moment of beauty,
That vanishes before it arrives,
And yet never quite goes away.

← Aakriti Kuntal