By Angela Mckean
In dreams I am a small black kite.
I soar, nest, preen and drift
as smoky thermals lift me where they will.
I have no thoughts. Hunting for food
I hover over Delhi’s dumpsters, landfills.
I angle slowly down to earth.
Cries rise to meet me, seared
with pain. I do not recognise
this anguished city.
I try to land, but every branch is gone.
Amputated, stacked in fiery pyres.
I fall to earth
and wake. My room emerges palely from the dark.
I’m tethered to my bed, snared into consciousness.
I cry out, wingless, and afraid.
Based in Northumberland, I often write on themes of ambiguity and the liminal – the borderlands of the mind. I have had poems and stories published in regional and national magazines.
Lockdown seems to distil and intensify my emotions, about everything really. It been hard to make sure my feelings infuse but don’t overwhelm my writing. But writing in lockdown has allowed me to leave home in my imagination, and go wherever the writing takes me, which is a great privilege, I think. A poem then becomes an offering to whoever needs or wants it.
Hello Angela, this is a marvelous, concise poem and seems to come from a more ‘universal’ consciousness and from compassion for others. The kite is a perfect vehicle for this travelling of imagination and empathy, and that is becomes ‘wingless’ is lovely and stark. Thank you.
Thanks for your comments Leslie. It’s great to get feedback about how others see and feel my poem.
So few words but for me painted pictures of distress and sadness. Insightful of how our Indian friends must feel. Thank you
Thanks Caroline, good to know the emotions I put into the poem carry through to readers
Hello Angela!
“A small black kite”–what a powerful image. India–sigh. You captured it.
Thanks Leigh Anne, good to know my choice of image worked
very visual, almost a piece of film by Goya
Thanks Michael. I hadn’t really thought about the visual aspect, so it’s good to get your perspective on it