Wings of my living
clung to the sweat-stained
and sticky wall
Of my fatigue mind
Unmovable with very efforts
Let it to be hung to the wall
as the real
stuffed show piece
hanging in the nail.

The wisp of light strikes
In the stark darkness
flashed all over the room
alarmed by the sudden stroke
turn with reddened eyes
Hanging in the ceiling
Startled by fright
And flutter around.

My living
Cleansed each feather
Of its wings
And run away from its boundaries.
In the speed of the light.

31st March 2005

by Pushpa Ratna Tuladhar

Other poems of TULADHAR (40)

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.