there goes the cloud of my desire,
silver against a parchment blue sky
i do not know how or even why i
will end up there,
but i am sure i will,
with my feet made of wood and water,
my head full of fire,
my heart as light as air.
'there' is where my soul belongs,
too long
i've lived in the here,
too long i've listened to the calling hills,
wishing i could be there and here,
wishing i could move my soul
and steer
wherever my mind wills;
i
ought to have been a flying tree,
rooted for a time to the earth and sea,
and when fancy takes hold of me
sprout wings and take to the sky and see
new lands and rivers spread beneath,
a fresh banquet of opportunity,
my roots soaked in experience,
my wings drenched in energy.
i ought to have been a flying tree,
living more lives than one,
dying more deaths than one,
briefly bound, forever free.
Rohit Nalluri 
Leave a comment