Black Trees White Blossoms No Leaves

Written in a bus on the tiny computer attached in front of my seat on a cold, wet evening in Turkey.. a poem that travelled with me while on vacation.They provide free Wifi and a small system too there on buses along with coffee and cakes. Incredible to be read instantly by fb friends and their comments kept me really warm .

Black Trees White Blossoms No Leaves

A love story playing out
under the tall conifers holding up a heavy, overcast sky
Miles of green stretching limbs into the unknown
and screeching tires on wet streets
The sky not to be denied of its share of the wetness
pushes past the horizon
Enveloping the black and green with steely gray
Persistent as you are when dusk descends
The road doubles up on itself
Entering me and a journey speeds up
Thoughts homing in where the day and its sun cannot penetrate
Like damp earth rising up to move and press against the curling
Our impossible story
Implausible one too
A lone brown bird on the topmost twig of a barren tree
Silver tipped mountains pouring its white gold into mirror like streams
My brown bird
I know we have met
In the barrenest of lands and amidst luscious plums
Our beaks stained with their color sometimes and parched at others at the sight of empty pitchers
In the cold softness of snow
A fire stoked slow
blazes into a volcano
Begging to be tamed with cold lips
Its lava melting frozen peaks
Brown bird
our beaks beat on bare birches
There is a summer
Willing waiting wanting
Laden with blossoms

Till then my mockingbird our nest
too waits
in another world
Yet undiscovered
While we pass the years
In strange ones
That demand our silence
For there alone can you sing aloud
Fearlessly letting your soft voice soar
And kiss the snowflakes away with your summer scented breath
And your song will play on in these valleys of ice
Over us as we lie waiting for
Time to smudge/nudge the stones lying over our stories
©Reena Prasad


One thought on “Black Trees White Blossoms No Leaves

  1. I love to hear what give you the inspiration to write your poems . I am with you on your bus , driving on through the wet streets of Turkey . Your poem is a delight as always . I am now going to make a cuppa in an China cup , dunk a ginger biscuit and read it all over again …you clever lady .


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