The bubble ascends
From inside the kettle.
The heat suffocating,
The light inviting.
Seeking freedom,
It rises,
Desiring a world
Beyond the circular confines
Of this ceramic coffin.
It floats
To an early salvation.
Its is a fleeting existence,
A forbidden freedom.
Its is a futile dream,
A forsaken death.
The kite tugs at the strings
That gave it height,
That gave it flight.
It sees a world
That the hands cannot.
It seeks a world
That the heart knows not.
Wants to fly, unguided,
Wants to mingle
With the clouds above,
And live those brief minutes
Before earth and death
And trampling feet
Catch up.
Its is a complicated existence,
A controlled freedom.
Its is a consuming dream,
A captivating death.
About Me
- musafir
- "A man is the history of his breaths and thoughts, acts, atoms and wounds, love, indifference, and dislike; also of his race and nation, the soil that fed him and his forebears, the stones and sands of his familiar places, long-silenced battles and struggles of conscience, of the smiles of girls and the slow utterance of old women, of accidents and the gradual action of inexorable law, of all this and something else too, a single flame which in every way obeys the laws that pertain to Fire itself, and yet is lit and put out from one moment to the next, and can never be relumed in the whole waste of time to come." Possession by A.S. Byatt
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3 comments:
I really like the second part of your poem, particularly the beginning,
"The kite tugs at the strings
That gave it height,
That gave it flight.
It sees a world
That the hands cannot."
Well written.
Thanks for dropping by my blog and for your words. I like the writing here and will definitely be back! Look forward to seeing you back too.
:-)
@ . : A :
Thanks for dropping by - glad you appreciate my writing!
I'll definitely be coming back.
:)
Excellent. Look forward to having you over.
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