The dragonfly at rest on the doorbell—
too weak to ring and glad of it,
but well mannered and cautious,
thinking it best to observe us quietly
before flying in, and who knows if he will find
the way out? Cautious of traps, this one.
A winged cross, plain, the body straight
as a thermometer, the old glass kind
that could kill us with mercury if our teeth
did not respect its brittle body. Slim as an eel
but a solitary glider, a pilot without bombs
or weapons, and wings clear and small as a wish
to see over our heads, to see the whole picture.
And when our gaze grazes over it and moves on,
the dragonfly changes its clothes,
sheds its old skin, shriveled like laundry,
and steps forth, polished black, with two
circles buttoned like epaulettes taking the last space
at the edge of its eyes.
the dragonfly changes its clothes, sheds its old skin, shriveled like laundry, and steps forth, polished black, with two circles buttoned like epaulettes taking the last space at the edge of its eyes. Beautiful poem on the varying colour of the dragon fly. Thanks for sharing this lovely poem.
Seeing a dragonfly as a bomber without bombs. I saw it well in these words! good poem
Excellent portrayal of a Dragonfly. The poet's ability to see through its acts at microscopic level makes it a rare poetic marvelous. Thanks a lot. It reminds me of another outstanding poem on the same subject by Dr Geeta Radhakrishna Menon which I found to be equally captivating.
when our gaze grazes over it and moves on, the dragonfly changes its clothes, sheds its old skin, shriveled like laundry, great imagination.
a pilot without bombs or weapons, and wings clear and small as a wish A true guide to poets the one that has metamorphism as one of its skills as well as gentle ways
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Extremely descriptive.....Interesting similes....nicely penned!