Wormhole

The flowers are left to decay,
The soil is black with venom.
The glass is full of water,
There sits an empty vase.

A deer is caught in the headlights,
The lion cries out to the crowd,
A graceful cub on solitary display,
The orphan roars once voyeurs are gone.

The ostrich runs frantically around,
The monkeys eat deviled eggs.
The sun scorches relentlessly,
A field lies barren in it’s expanse.

The caterpillar falls off the leaf,
Satiated beetles skitter away,
A landscape of autumn colored leaves,
The carcass invisible to the eye.

 

As each mend is effected…
The fabric seems to get more taut.
The spine snaps like a brittle twig…
They’d been tending to the wrong scar.

 

… Somewhere in an alternate universe,
A boy furiously chases his dashing feet.
A butterfly sits on his shoulder…
As he flies past tall sugarcane fields.

A baby ostrich is playing with a cub,
A lion and a doe kiss for the first time,
Monkeys plant sunflowers till the horizon,
As the beetles hum ‘We can work it out’.

The little boy makes it all the way back…
Rain soothing the scars on his back,
His eyes filled with enchanting laughter…
They discovered innocence in flawed hearts.

A tiny wormhole led him there,
Was in the soil of his soul’s dreams,
There just had to be another reality…
Where two suns could rise at once.


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© Deepa Bajaj, 2015. All Rights Reserved.