he's...
gone. like the summer wind
with its sweet smell of mangoes
and dust under harsh sun
he's gone like winter weather
with its grey snow
and boot prints
he comes, and then he goes
the seasons await his cue
but even spring frowns
once in a while
when he leaves only his shadow
on the technicolour grass
and bubbling water
crunchy amber leaves,
migrating white birds and their
call for the young ones to follow
the shutters of the sky closing
all echo his absence
the wind whispers
desperately, his name-
and there he emerges
like a new day
from the guts of the horizon
just to be lost once more...
Â
-Samjam
I'm in an extreme poetry rut so posting old, randomly strung-together text messages (24/12/23) to push myself. Thanks for reading.
Toods!