beneath the scorching sun,
Give me just that trilling bird,
his dainty perch, his last of the summer fun;
Give me just this daily breath,
this curling autumn sleeve,
Give me just this barefoot right,
my fingers on a blade of green.
© Shaista Tayabali, 2011
Painting: Daniel Garber, Tanis, Oil, 1915
12 comments:
Just a beautiful poem, almost a prayer of thanksgiving!
Rick
I plant under a seathing sun
I need not water them
my sweat sates their thirst
unlike others,I complain not
about the summer.
If one's Summers
must be tallied
every blade of grass
even those in golden attire
must be appreciated
Your lovely words, Shaista, transition easily from your
prism eyes.
Thank you for sharing again.
A poem for a poem, nene. Every blade of grass must indeed be appreciated. I love lying in a small heap on the grass, breathing grass, becoming grass.
Until a bee becomes territorial.
Remember the Talmud angel, bending over the blade of grass and bidding it "grow!"? Your lovely poem made me think of it......and my alert granny radar is detecting a story behind the poem......
You're added to my list of excellent blogs ... I was lying on the grass this afternoon ... it was sunny ... that late unexpected autumn sunshine ...
This is beautiful, the painting is beautiful, and I need to expand my vocabulary :) I took time to quietly browse through your sidebar and every book, person and painting was so interesting, and beautiful. And your Mom's portraits and Dad's art, amazing.
shaista - such a simple and lovely painting and a word painting to open its details - summer . . . gone on the calendar - but not gone! steven
Ohh, that curling autumn sleeve. ohh, you.
Beautifully said. At the end of summer, I find myself wanting so much: for summer not to end, for autumn to ripen quickly.
you blow me away.
love the imagery.
welcome sharing your poetry with us today,
first time participants can link in 1 to 3 random poems, you can also write for our challenge.
OH my! what a brilliant masterpiece indeed.. so love it.
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