Some Days I Wish

By Aryesh Maurya

Some days I wish to be a florist.

Watering, pruning, sowing, reaping,

Welcoming, with a smile, greeting.

Yet I wish to be a flower someday.

Cared, growing, waving, fluttering,

Spreading scent, amidst pages, withering.

Some days I wish to be a traveller.

Moving, exploring, understanding, living,

Meeting strange hands, receiving, giving.

Yet I wish to be a tree someday.

Rooted, patient, adamant, to produce,

Fixed yet free, for others to use.

Some days I wish to be a poet.

Admiring, observing, loving, reminiscing,

Silent with tongue and loud with writing.

Yet I wish to be a poem someday.

Forgotten yet loved, dead yet living kind,

Plain on a page, yet coloured in mind.

Some days I wish to be a fighter.

Brave, strong, determined, proud,

Sung and honoured with a national shroud.

Yet I wish to be a grave someday.

Unbiased, uncapitalised, hospitable, certain,

Accepting all and pulling the curtain.

By Aryesh Maurya