Poetry

A grief mounting with the drumbeats
you remained on the other bank

Knowing the bliss-hued leaves of trees as birds
yet you take the leaves for birds

Aware that the birds aren’t trees
yet you plant birds

Knowing that you’re on the other bank
yet the little boats haven’t ceased
to sink in the waves

Knowing you won’t be drenched
yet the sky hasn’t ceased to pour

A pain slowly mounting like the rains
a bird slowly dying
a pair of eyes slowly beginning to yellow

POETRY