A crow in my Dream
C P Aboobaker
Every night I drink the cup of life
Pure water from my own well.
It intoxicates me to the brim
And I am a drunkard of life
Every night I think of my meadows
Where I clinging to my pop's fingers
Roamed about under the skies blue
Dreaming of soaring into the skies.
Wings would come from the winds
Beaks from the pointed rocks
Eyes from the tiny little plants
Legs from the soil I touched on the earth.
Groves would fly under my wings
Rivers make a sky below the lands
Oceans reverberate under the dreams
Cool hands cuddle me in the wind.
Children call out I am a crow
While I, in fact, is a golden bird
A sparrow or a sooty tern
What flies over islands.
Realizing not that I am lonely
I flew in heavens over the isle
Between oceans and a bunch of trees
And my wings are tired to fall.
C P Aboobaker - C.P. ABOOBACKER, editor of thanalonline, belongs to Calicut in Kerala. His interests include writing, publishing poems, essays, and many more literary things. Latest writing is about Channels and Globalizations. He is a retired professor of history.
e-mail: cpaboobacker@gmail.com
