Memories

Are the thorns

Stuck in the mouth of the fox

Oh Crane

Don’t pick it out

With your long beak.

‘Our roots are gone’

My beloved worries

Dear, why do we need own land ?

Soil is just to bury us.

Did you see the Vanda

On the tree trunks

Wave its hands in joy?

If our roots

Are as short as worms

The pain of its uproot

Will be less.

At times

It can fit in flower pots

As the spring of

Odourless  Mussaenda flowers.

The pain of being at heights

Is that

The fear of a fall

Never leaves us.

The prop roots of the Banyan tree

Do not touch the ground

As fast as a falling curtain

But stands

As a memoir of those

Who hung themselves.

Even though it seems still

At first sight

Light never falls

Into its secret movements

It is hard

To cross the vacuum

The ice cubes of chilled thoughts

Can be put in water

Like frozen chicken thighs.

For all the seven seas

There is only one sky

And among the kites

That flies in it

The string that seems invisible

Is your pain

We came to this world

without any threads.

Pay tribute

To the truth of a decayed tooth

The uprooted root of mushroom

 Is lightening

And that of God is rain.