grass whistle ~ poetry

Hope

Hope is a tiny bird,
Against the gales
Which flies,
Ignoring probabilities,
Classifying them as
Lies.

Hope is a pollen grain
Unknown of its
Following fate,
Tagging along with
Bugs and winds,
Hoping
To reach a mate.

Hope is the lady
That sits on the world,
Her ever-seeing eyes,
Covered by the blindfold
Hoping
For music
From the last string
Of the Golden harp
Her arms hold.

~Ajay

March 2017