Flight

By Pooja Roy

 

On our carpet of words,
We flew all night, like the nightly birds.
Little lamps of the tired nights
A kaleidoscope of ordinary dreams and fights.

 

We flew over the rivers,
Over the highways,
Roping places together
In strings of grays.

 

We held tightly, our hands
As we flew on our carpet over grieving lands.
We cried of people’s sorrows.
Talking of mighty ways, make them pillows.

 

Our carpet,
Our dear world,

Weaved in purple with brocades of gold.

Admired and gasped for, in the day,
Our carpet, coveted as they may.

 

Carpet is now old and our faith unstable,
Grown up, we doubt if it’s able.
The purple is dusty, the gold weary –
While we are away on a path, far dreary.

 

I yearn for those flights
And see from above the city lights.
Does he too and have faith?
Would he daunt?
A flight with me –
Would he want?

Someday if I am alone with our carpet of love
I will still fly like the white dove.

 

Computer Science Graduate. Reader and Writer. Favorite author is Margaret Atwood.