Stuck or strategic retreat or healing or basking and enjoying.
How you see it is how you deal with it.
Even if the wild is mystical, there is a rhythm to agriculture, quite like the seasons and moods.
Seasons
Life, for me
is not only beautiful
but a renewable source of joy.
When exhausted,
i burrow in books
grow roots in people
float like a leaf adrift in air
hibernate in nature.
Then the spring comes
tugging on me,
i let the grass be my dance floor
with flowers swinging in air to keep me company.
The summer sun rises to balm me
and the rain falls to play over me;
The sky informs me that life is vast
and the cholorophyll hued greens
tell me that it is rich indeed.
I have my fill of autumn air
shedding the old and baring the vital
with the colours giving way to
grey and wintertide white;
Its time to irrigate my mind
and cultivate words.
Poetry by Sona
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Written on 2022-11-21 at 20:12
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