Friday, February 5, 2010

Come Home




I drifted along the row of crocodile mud

In there lay hidden basking little crocs

Growing green by the minute 

Then they leave for some dismal illusion 

For faraway shores seeking lazy waters, 

Golden streams and cradled meanders, 

Riverbeds of diamond rocks and stray lilacs


They seldom come back to their moist roots

The ones which are wilting and concerned

Whose ripples hardly reach those dreamlands

To call the loosened to come home

To live our old muddy waterbeds again

Where you were brought up till you barely trot




Copyright BluEJoKe (2010)