FLYING (A sonnet)

We sat on the rooftop. Around, the town

Was white and grey, waiting for the new lights.

And as we talked, watching the eaves and down

You kept on asking: “Are you afraid of heights?”

 

“Actually, I can fly: I’m going to teach

Your body and your brain to surf the air.

Just keep in mind the place you want to reach

And don’t relax: your muscles taut, beware!”

 

Leaving the roof, my thoughts was on the sill

I decided to stop and perch upon.

I did not turn. I had to show my skill

Stretching my ego in a flying swan.

 

You waited on the roof: I wonder if you coped

Seeing me sailing higher. Maybe that’s what you hoped.

 

(Sonnet by SiRiChandra)

 

This is a dream I had a couple of nights ago.

 

Done