Last night I heard the wind outside
struggling to break
free from the trees.
It stretched and pulled at
branches and leaves that
wouldn't let go,
and snarled and howled
for freedom.
This morning, all around me I see
scattered debris
of its profitless fury
vented on twigs and
new-born Mayflowers
trampled and crushed in the rain.
The trees today stand
unmoving and silent
and the wind, like a
beaten adversary,
subdued and stilled
within them.
Perhaps it's at rest
in the roots
of the trees
like the spirits my ancestors
once worshipped.
Zualteii Poonte is the owner of this blog. She teaches English literature at Aizawl College and is a keen amateur photographer.
Photo: Col. Chris Rego, Dampa Tiger Reserve, Mizoram.
Photo: Col. Chris Rego, Dampa Tiger Reserve, Mizoram.
Beautifully imaginative. And so apt.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much, mesjay. Appreciate the pug mark :) The wind was really pulling at the trees that night and it occurred to me that it seemed like a prisoner trying to break free, heh
ReplyDeleteCan we envisage the turmoil in the poem as a battle between tradition vs modernity
ReplyDelete