Sunday, March 02, 2008

The Feather

The feather falls
And where it touches
The ground
An echo emanates
While the breath of dust
Descends on the fibres
Each strand reaches out to touch the wind
And sways at the slightest of breezes
Such a breeze wouldn’t touch a leaf
And yet it would take this feather to the heavens

The fur of brightest blue
Flutters as it rolls clumsily across the ground
Until a sudden gust of wind
Lifts it off the ground
So it can fly amongst clouds of rain
And play with the dew drops

And the feather races across the sky
It’s chariot of wind carrying it
To uncharted, unknown places
Not one person will ever see that feather twice
For it never stops
It flows with time and clime
Touching every living soul
On the face of the earth
Turning brown to green
And black to blue
Setting a new balance
Where it can someday
Perch itself in the cover of a cloud
And look down on a fresh creation

3 comments:

Sharmishta said...

this is beautiful. Simplistic beauty! One of ur better ones :)
less dark, perhaps?

Abhijit Chanda said...

Thanks a ton sis :) actually this was one of my first non-dark poems.

karishma said...

light as the air that it travels on,
beautiful in the detail that constitutes it,
it flits by the little girl as she reaches out to grab it.

on her palm it rests,barely
with fascination she raises it to her eye,
and with awe and childish breathlessness,
she sees a reflection of the sky

enamoured by its beauty,
its weightless sublime magic,
she stares and smiles and absorbs


and then there came a gust of wind,
or maybe it was her breath,
and carried with it the little feather
in circles and spirals of dance

a smile, a sigh of happiness, maybe just a little regret,
but joy, oh yes, so much joy,for the image that will remain forever.