Roots

17 haiku poem. For my mom.

The blooms are not as

Beautiful as the roots it

Plants deep in soil

 

The vineyard’s sweet scent

The grapes it hides under gaze

Of bright mother sun

 

The greenery leaves

Weaving machinery grasps

The flowers’ heart cords

 

And strings symphonies

Terpsichorean breezes

Freedom’s Elysium

 

The clouds ballet found

Shaping formless hurricanes

Playing church organs

 

Reborn corneas

We watch the world roll over

Itself a new day

 

Playing with daisies

Mosaics of hazy buildings

Gray, quiet horizons

 

We ring together

Our offkey hearts into a

Sound music envies

 

The noisy voiceless

Kilometres bottomless

Thermometers sing

 

Of the gypsy winged

Unhinged doors to scarecrow hearts

Where we play dreaming

 

The songs of Autumn

Rhythm to the lithium

Glow of a full moon

 

And we pass the day

Away, dreaming wide awake

Grasping happiness

 

People may leave us

Behind, but we still move forth

The wheel spins, still

 

The water runs, the

Time passes into molasses

In an hourglass

 

Pastures of grasslands

Alabaster rays that graze

The surface, the face

 

And sun that drops down

Into an endless spiral of

Black, where stars burn cold

 

Plants deep in soil

Beautiful as the roots now

Blooms try, smile, still

 

Author's Note

I promise I read every single review, and I generally will reply to them. I look forward to my next review, because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be happy to hear anything you feel needs sharing. Whenever you write on my shortcomings or breakthroughs, or the themes of my poems, or share ideas and friendly criticism, it decides my next poem to an extent. I will listen, learn and be thankful. And 99% of the time, you'll get a reply unless you're trolling me.