Birds In Flight

a poem by Rani Turton, France

Often, birds in flight make me think
Of my soul and its plight: they make me think
Of life's anguish and then ponder
If life doesn't lie yonder

Yonder beyond the hills and sky
If when life, pulsing in life's veins
Is but a dream, an illusion
Birds in flight, dreams and delusion.

Now, in an instant, the beating of wings
Have faded; nothing remains.
No remnants, not even a song.
The beating of my heart goes on and on.

Copyright: Rani Turton




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