Fragments of Birds

but we are only paper gods
creating soulless fragments of birds
wings, colour, a sunlit song

from words and paint and pieces of bruised earth
never knowing everything
never allowed to touch the real thing

my poem flutters against the window pane
watching a hornbill swoop down from the sky
a sliver of moon trapped in its feathers

verses that wanted to rise
and fill their hollowness with stars
fall upside down empty into the night

never knowing everything
never allowed to touch the real thing
crafted by a paper god, soulless as a lie.

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40 thoughts on “Fragments of Birds

  1. Beautifully said, musical and haunting. And such a vast yearning! For myself, knowing I cannot create the moon, I’ll settle for being a finger pointing, which still seems to me a worthy and satisfying endeavour.

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  2. In life we must always do what we need to do satisfy ourselves that our time has not been wasted. We won’t know everything but we should walk out own path that we chose rather than be sad at the end.

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    1. Thanks Mary… I think there is a distance between what we create through poetry and reality – the one around us or our own… making us just paper gods! What isn’t true is therefore without life..or soul!!

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  3. In my mind verses never “fall upside down, empty into the night” … but instead either go into the Great Perhaps and touch some kindred soul, or simply bless me by releasing my thoughts into the universe, a sort of catharsis. I love your descriptive terms. This is an evocative poem.

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  4. I just read this again, Rajani. So beautiful. My favorite verse:

    my poem flutters against the window pane
    watching a hornbill swoop down from the sky
    a sliver of moon trapped in its feathers

    Just perfect!

    Like

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