Not My Angst

satishverma

Tribal instinct spares none. 
You change the script, 
and come out to see the murmuration 
of a flock of starlings. 

The precision, the blend 
make you wonder about the harmony 
of small birds in unison, 
an army moves as one body. 

O man, your mathematics 
has gone absurd. The sects and 
cults. The zealot, the devout. 
Brother, I will say unleafing must start. 

More poems? 
That does not work. 
All the daffodils go blind. 
Thousands of years go― 
in making a vision.

  • Author: satishverma (Offline Offline)
  • Published: January 17th, 2019 20:15
  • Category: Nature
  • Views: 28
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Comments +

Comments1

  • psychofemale

    Love the last stanza 🙂



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