Poems by Lily Swarn

Poems by Lily Swarn
 
 
 
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UNBORN
 
“For thought is a bird of space
That in a cage of words may indeed unfold its wings
But cannot fly “
Khalil Gibran
 
Unborn
Floating in amniotic fluid
Germs of thought
pregnant with
Meaning
Chained with fetters of iron
Abysmal underground cellars
Damp and dank
Festering sores
Food for rampant rats
 
Word–prisons with massive gates
Bolted with strongholds of traditions
Fluttering painfully with tender feathers
Fledgling robin redbreasts of winter
Perennial wait for an unknown Godot
Thrashing in an ocean of breakers
Rafts with holes that sink to the
Busy bed of sandy shores
 
You asked me to tell you
What I was thinking that night
When the moon was magnanimous
And went to sleep behind the
“Chilman “of black velvet clouds
I opened my mouth and rolled
My garrulous tongue to speak
The thoughts gathered in a conference
But wouldn’t agree with me
They silenced me with whiplashes
Of stern admonishing
Lame I was and trussed up
Like chickens to be beheaded
With choking gags of thorny cacti
Scratching my brimming throat
My thoughts foamed and frothed
And sank down with a whimper
Silenced into obscurity .
 
© 2017. Lily Swarn. All rights reserved.
 
 
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MY TREE
 
I think the tree that I gaze at
From my kitchen window each morning
Is perhaps my closest confidante
It sees my slumber dazed eyes
Open up languorously to clasp
The first glass of water for the day
I smile indulgently at its seductive blooms
Perking up my mundane existence with
Their brash brilliance
The green is comforting
Mossy and cool like the stream that flowed in the quaint red roofed village in the hills
The long brown pods that are its fruit
Dangle deliriously in the scorching breeze
I wish I could shin up its inviting branches as I did
On the mango tree in my mother’s house
Surreptitiously peeping into the neighbour’s garden
 
Girlhood is far behind
My knees might creak in protest
I am sure I will get breathless
Besides its not the same tree
This Gulmohar is my friend
It knows me by name
It hears my heartbeats
It tells me tales !
Of loves long lost
Of promises unkept
Of lives unloved
Of buds that wilted before
They could blossom !
It bids me goodnight
At unearthly hours
How comforting is its
constant presence in a world
Of make believe !
 
Copyright Lily Swarn 23.5.2016
 
 
 
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Lily Swarn

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