Holidaying In Chimney Woods
These woods are like a mother
putting all embers out.
Sweet wind winnows me out of
all secret worries.
As I dip myself into the woody stream,
tension termites disappear.
Throats of birds broadcast unceasing songs
like our FM station.
When a tribesman squeezes a honey-comb, I
ride my tongue up the palm.
My mind convalesces slowly here
under the foliage.
Fireflies fly out through the windows
of my skull.
Fresh thoughts are cooked in the seclusion
of the woods.
Shoots of dreams reappear, breaking the dried
pods of my memory.
I see the fossils of a paradise, which we had lost
under the past.
First printed in Poetry Nook Magazine, US.
Copyright © Fabiyas M V | Year Posted 2017
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