Samara

Samara... Brilliant sunshine, silvery cloud; looked down and found me lost in a crowd. Some nights, I flew and followed the breeze. Some nights, my world turned into a freeze. Sometimes, I was lost, going my way; it didn't matter night was or day. I played with swallows, morning at dawn; next day rested, rest on a velvet lawn. One day, bathed in a droplet of dew, next day in a storm, angry and blue. Where am I going? Nobody knows! Hope for a garden, a garden of rose. Where is my unknown destination? How come there is no affirmation? Where do I find my liberation? When I was made of limitation! Living in a cage looks like my body, shackled with chains, stained and cloudy. Frustration, anger, what do I know? How cold and which way does the wind blow? One more day and then, loneliest night; One more storm and then another fight. I crashed into the solid unknown. Hit the ground and dazed, cold like a stone. Covered by darkness, into the ground, deeper and deeper and round and round. No more excuses, no more complain. No more, no more living with the pain. My days have passed, and my weeks have gone, I was afraid of not seeing dawn. Dying in a grave that's dark and cold; nothing to worry, and nothing to hold. Death is the friend that washes our pain. All of that darkness begins its reign. Suddenly, I felt a throbbing pain. A painful root that stretched like a cane. Out of my body into the ground, deeper and deeper whispering sound. Pushing me upward, up and away, little by little and all the way. I started to see the sea of light; orange and yellow, purple and white. The sun was hugging, gentle, and warm. No more darkness or thundering storm. Gentle breeze at night, night after night; no more sadness and fearful of flight. The wind played music day after day, Eternal Spring is April and May. Wherever I looked, life was too bright, Spring and summer are gorgeous delight. What happened? I died, died as a seed. Then suddenly, I turned into a weed. Everywhere I looked, heaven on Earth. Thousands of flowers, ready to birth. The whispering breeze was gentle and warm; promised me there would be no more storm. To live or to die, why should I try? With love, we're flying until we die. Summer is too good; summer is fine. Which would you prefer, grapes or wine? Little by little, summer was gone. Trees turned yellow; autumn was on. Autumn is yellow and colder at night, sunset, and sunrise, always in a fight. Colder and colder night after night, shorter and dimmer brightness of light. Autumn is always blooming sorrow. You borrow sorrow for tomorrow. Winter is coming, angry and mad. Freezing and chilling, piercing and sad. Covered me with that drifted snow, How long will it be? I do not know. Dying is easy; living is hard. What nature makes will later discard. Once there was a seed hoping to bloom, then he died and slept covered in gloom. Then he woke up in a mountain of light, filled with love and joy, absence of fright. Then, there was the whole cycle of rhyme; died again in the snow, waiting his time. Like a seed, I know the cycle of life. There will be some peace but lots of strife. There will be blizzards in our upcoming; no more fear of what is becoming. No more fear of what is becoming; Dying or living, both welcoming. 4/13/20 Note: This style of poetry is called "Masnavi", it is a spiritual story in the form of couplets. This particular Masnavi consists of nine syllables in each line. Poetrysoup has a great explanation and example of this form of poetry.