Personal Poetry

Dandelions

Summer breeze is flying away, to make way for autumn,
a hundred little butterflies surrounded a scared dandelion.
an assemblage of tiny pots of life ready to bloom,
shrunk in but fear,
of being dispersed and taken away,
by the time like wind,
and of the new lands to venture.
they sit still listening to the advices of the butterflies,
already bloomed and so big.
I eavesdrop to hear them say,
travel far and beyond,
look for perfect place to grow,
make a dandelion of your own,
and as you flourish talking from the soil,
so give it back, stories of your homeland.

Summer breeze is flying away, to make way for autumn,
bringing the time for the butterflies to say goodbyes to their dandelions.

 

Cosmos

Leaf I am, my hand too;
Front soft and moist, back hardcover. 
I raise it, like the leaves;
Forbidden to catch the sun though. 
In the juice of fruits, on the tip of my tongue,
I enjoy it instead. 

The breeze comes to me, Whispers to me nothing,
No, I am not his companion, 
The chirp-possessing feather-ball.
But yes, the little twitters it brings with it, 
Inform me of the spring. 
I throw a few corns in gratitude. 

In harsh rain, under you.
In droughts deep inside.
Let me return favour, 
Impossible but attempted. 
In death let me give you back, 
Fruits I took.
In life, your water. 
In both your love.
But am I allowed?
A creation of God, 
so alienated from others of its kind,
Yet so connected. 
Neither intrinsic like thou,
Nor eternal;
But in my insignificant existence,
Am I allowed to be of significance to you?

Am I allowed to walk barefoot?
Let the grass poke at my roots?
Connecting my core with the sun,
Eyes closed yet seeing its warmth?
My soul bright in its light,
The green of the plants my veins,
The brown of the bark my eyes;
Waterfalls confined within. 
The red of lips the rose, 
No dew settles in though. 
Am I allowed then, to pour on me the same water as them?

Am I allowed to be one with the cosmos?