The paper boats that are folded,
With cute little fingers and hands,
Waiting for the rain to run collecting the mud,
From the streets of haunted visuals,
The papyrus vessels row sweet and gentle,
Winking at the things that are stationed at one place,
Swaying from side to side to the songs of treacherous wind,
Longing for the water that has to be poured to the roots,
Can’t even freshen up their own leaves, full of dusty mites,
The paper boats that were once the mighty trees,
Unaware of the hands that felled them to be woods,
Happily row on the murky stream with flaring smiles,
Unassumingly to get soaked and then drowned,
The living trees on the shores always get shocked.
the last line is a magical one, Veeraiyah, so potently it captures the poem's spirit.
flaring smile, good write, I like it, thanks. Please read my new poems and say something.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Living trees on the shores always get shocked. A concern for environment - destruction and pollution. Beautiful poem.