Wood framed
filtered mesh
Through the glass
stands a tree
Flush with fruit
fully bare of leaves
Multitudes of birds
hop and dance
Atop the crowning branches
Pecking and flapping
keeping their balance
Like bar patrons at last call
Harvesting
fermented fruits
Before they in turn each fall
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Words are are used matching with the dancing mood of the birds. Fantastic. And fruits will all fall on day, nothing of it, new harvest will take place to grow more.....its the eternity. At the same time these birds will no more here, new born babies will take their place. But above all the dancing passion of nature exists within our soul. We need the harvesting individually in the field of our mind. Passion is universal... bird and fruit and trees and the observer are of no different entity. Good poem. Write more. Regards, pranab 10