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The Poetry Page
Savita Singh
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Unbound
The wind was
honing an idea in the bird’s head
One that had
just finished making its nest
It had come to tell me too
That only time had produced me,
I was no one to think of my transcendence
Sadness that continuously drops
within me from a tap,
rusted and unstoppable
is an opening to a creative melancholy
that I should happily bear
By the end of the evening
the bird was well perched on its nest
leaving me to wander in the wide-open world
unanchored
unbound
Savita Singh, Laindon ,Essex,25.9.91
Watching Sparrows Play
It was after a cold day really
that the sun was out again
heating my cheeks gently
I sat in my study
People were out on the icy streets
planning and plotting to conquer the day
to sigh away
some maturing pain in their chests
It was after many cold days
that the Saturday had come again
when I spent the whole afternoon
watching the mating of the birds
in the silence of a shadowy tree
watching sparrows play and play
It was after a cold day really
that the sun was out again
Editor: Manohar Khushalani
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