Flight

The afternoon sun with its fickle rays
Creeps up into little rifts
And cracks and cuts and splits
Of the infinity of your mind.
And there you are, a shade of green
A dancing netted sunbeam

Of a million thoughts that you dream
In a home of lost sanity.
Like flocks of birds that ride the wind
And cleave the air with razor wings
Not a drop in place or out of sync
Of a slow and drowsy mystery.
The space you fill that none can see
And stay unseen, no loss, no gain
Slowly, serenely, melting we
Like old photographs in the rain.
Like parchment is a poet’s song
And words are his only quill
Which spill and plunge and tumble down
The aisle of air at the windowsill.
A flight it is, a golden flight
Into the rainbows of twilight
Into the shadows of the night
Into a gleaming scenery.


Swasti is a Guest Author for LSD. She wrote this poem on a lovely afternoon during her first month at IIM-A, when all she could think of was how to fly away.

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