There are bigger questions,
deeper enquiries to be made
in the life that yaws ahead;
a cave of secrets
exposed one by one
in lantern light.
Where is this ‘air’
we breathe but cannot see?
Why must a jump always
be followed by a landing
as if some invisible hand
will not let me go?
Why does skin go funny colours
when we bang it
and leak when we scrape
our knees.
But right now,
whatever you say,
I am not convinced
that this froth of bubbles
with little black dots
are frogs.
1 comment:
This one gave me a chuckle and brought back childhood memories of my brothers scooping frogs and their eggs out of a ditch and then trying to sell them to the other kids in the neighborhood. An enterprising, if unsuccessful, idea.
Thanks for the trip back in time. ;)
Good photo too; matches the mood of the poem well.
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