Timid thoughts, do not be afraid of me. I am a poet. - Stray Birds, Tagore
These silent thoughts,
ruffling behind my closed eyes
like pretty feet
running behind closed doors...
Where do they go?
Whence do they come
What do they say
in their footsteps of silence?
How do they stand
and stare at the sky,
while i scratch my head
in the grind of the night
How do they dream
of dreams and sleep,
while i stroll along
listening to the street lamps
How do they run
over the hills; under the dale,
while my feet stay
grounded to the clay
How do they speed
arrows to an unknown target,
while my mind lies
an unused bow
Arrows have sped.
The bow lies on the ground.
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4 comments:
I really liked this poem extremely well, Agni.
Somehow, more than the good imagery, more than the beauty of oft-reapeated truth that the thought of the poem is, and also more than the overall simplicity that inundates the structure/intent of the poem, what I find most appealing in "The Unstrung Bow" is the sincerity of the poet that is like an indelible musical note throughout - somehow you are there in this poem through and through.
# I truly think that great writers like you should never take a sabbatical from writing, come what may -at least for the sake of readers who hardly get to see anything of worthy quality nowadays where writing goes.
# A good way for me to start the day :-)...
I cannot take a break..nor can I write.
The pen is taken when it is time to write and lies down till it is time again.
:-)
I recall reading this as soon as you had published it and today I return and the poem appears new to me! :-o
Interesting thought and I enjoyed the end. Probably you wanted to say "whence" rather than "whither"? Glad you are back to writing... :-)
@Eriteme - trust you to catch the mistakes! ;-) It was meant to be whence. And I hope every poem appears new when we return to it!
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