One Day

A golden bird

talks from behind a cage

Her words are of freedom

and tone of rage

There is a twinkle in her eye

She is a slave

There is a man in a cocoon

looking for the rays of sun

His intention is to see

He looks very dull

There is a flurry in his eye

He is a burden

A lonely moonbeam

is stolen by a cloud

It has fading luster

no expectations to be found

There is calm in its eye

It is a treasure

A bevy of artists

is standing at a conjunction

They are stitching the breeze to a river

and talking of changing structures

There is concentration in their eye

They are radicals.

After time

to a jungle these moved -

the golden bird, man, the lonely moonbeam, the artists.

..

Slowly came others few

They lit fire one night

and in it threw stones,

exchanged stories of misery

and now the freedom

To establish gratitude

they jumped in the fire too.

Shringi

June 02, 2011