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)

5 comments:

  1. spectacular...your poem has touched the soul...

    people move away to faraway places to find a dream...the place where they were born is just a lazy stick in the mud...they will never come back even if their dreams remain just dreams.

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  2. thanx a lot... you never come back once you fly outta that nest....

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  3. It made me cry, those futile wistful whispers summoning 'the loosened' from their 'faraway shores'...

    To more such food for the soul...

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  4. Thats a very strong statement lady.... Thanx a lot...

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