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  • Sreekanth Kopuri

Tidings of Migration

poem by Sreekanth Kopuri artwork, "The Spirit of God," by Dwayne Pagnotto

Suryalanka Beach, Bapatla

Do I ever remember a winter

without these fine tuned feathers,

the fluttering white cloud

that pillared the fishermen’s hope

the Wind’s un-transgressing decree?

If I could also be one!

but wonder why I must set an alarm in my mobile

for petty things when those delicate ones

do not, for even the bigger.

Lost in the boat, emptied of hope, an old fisherman,

who never killed a bird

waits on these seamless robes of light

to hint where to fish.

Are these the smaller words of that bigger One

within their tuned logistics, flying along

the set secret rhythms, only these breakers know?

To bird, now I know, is to soar off the prosaic drafts,

for the verse that migrates the meanings, off the known.

In our fields down the Way, stalks of life rise

from the guano that shines like white gold.

It’s time, I knew the Word, migration.

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