Orphans — A Poem
The silence hangs heavy upon the room,
The ticking of the clock sounds monotonous.
Time seems to be in a hurry having somewhere to go,
And me sitting on a chair with thoughts in my head.
They my companions, thoughts are birds,
They take wings to the sky, flying homeward,
Home? Where is home?
They have nowhere to go, these poor orphans,
Destitute, yet richly attired,
They were royal guests, prisoners within my skull,
Bewailing their misfortune, seeking to escape.
Then the Goddess broke ope the iron doors so heavy,
They flew like birds from a tiny cage,
To the vast expanse of sky, spreading their wings,
Each in a different direction.
Tireless wings, carrying thoughts of fantasy
To distant fairy lands of sweet scented flowers,
And strange melody chants… cool shady bowers,
Like in Paradise.
Here sit I and write of these orphans,
Now no longer orphans, they now belong.
Smiling and playing with wild, pretty flowers,
In strange, yet friendly regions.
NOTES:
This poem Orphans are ideas, thoughts in my mind which now belong to this world, to you readers, once I have expressed it on paper. The process of creation is like one of birth, as you create, and thoughts take shape. Then these thoughts are no longer orphans, for they now belong to you, the world of readers, “In Strange, yet friendly regions,” mean in people’s brains, strangers, those who appreciate my words, my thoughts, my ideas.
