Priyanka

Quite Contrary

What we are born with we take,
and what we live for we rarely notice.
In this world of constant awakening,
we scrunch ourselves down in the kingdom of lost clouds,
counting our moments by the wraith silver
of the waning crescent moon.
Perched on the indefinite steadiness of the seasons’ change,
the hummingbird and the philosopher deny their thirst and wait.
We wish to live,
to sway with the flowers in mutual delight.
Our days, short-lived, shelter in the sultry summer sun.
We blossom to the steady beating of our hearts,
blooming in the shadows of the people we once were,
and what we’ve now become.