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A collaboration over too much coffee.
coffee and pen

14 August, 2006

Drying out in Kerala

There is no oil on my soul.
I too have come out
to dry my wings.

I watch as you take a long flight
close to the surface of the water
fast and confident
smart and straight
and then make a perfect dive
bravely into the world below.

Where are you, my Cormorant?
I wait breathlessly.
Are you breathing in there
as you explore and search
find food and feed your desire?
You are gone for longer
than I can hold my breath
and then,
hold it again
till suddenly you emerge
some ten feet away
your long neck and curious beak
rotating agilely
to gulp in the world without;
well-fed now in more ways than one.

I see you perched on a fallen branch
by the shore
with your wings wide open,
wings larger than I would have imagined
wings that you flutter expansively
to dry in the breeze
releasing every drop of water
that clings on to you.

David, the naturalist, tells me
you are not protected.
The only water bird with no oil on it’s body.
You must come out to dry yourself
every now and then
or you may become too wet and heavy
and sink in a watery world.

I too have come out
away from my world
to dry my wings
There is no oil on my soul.

posted by scribe at 8:09 PM

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1 Comments:

Blogger Mona Mishra said...

Is it too literal or am i being poetry-naive? excuse my somewhat wearied notions of prose vs poetry. will come and read this poem again - sometimes that works for me. cheers, m

16 August, 2006 14:57  

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