The Kapok tree

The blessed Kapok tree, standing tall though a long slumber

Displaying its wares to the clouds, buying raindrops

That feed its flock of green, for there is no respite

From the need for air, in this comfortable incubator few wish to leave

These cathedrals of the Amazon, living proof

Of the power of silent workers, witnessing the rise of rivulets of sap

To greet a deluge from the skies, a daily gift

In that humid world, water is everywhere

Prerequisite for a testing ground for the fittest

Athletes of nature, each competing for a shot at glory

A crowning achievement not recognized

Till the earth has seen a few more moods of the sun

Hidden in the thicket, is a sure means of escape

A lost tribe may not know any better

In that isolated world, conflicts easily arise

The mind struggles to evolve, unwilling to wait

A magnet's aura

The curtain to the backstage remains hidden by changing colors in the day

No such surprises at night, if only an owl could watch

Not many can turn their heads all the way back

Tethered by eyes seeking escape

From tight strings intertwined by constrictor knots

Windows given to us not large enough to feel the pulse

Of a good life that seems to quickly pass by

Reversing this entanglement is left for another existence

Like a magnet that never fails to attract

The doors to the storehouse will surely open

Circumstances flood in looking for the perfect fit

Easily claiming victims with tailor made sorrows and joys

The hapless mind runs out of shelves to store them all

Longing for change of careers, to one that offers a peaceful transition

From day to night, currently an effort laden enterprise

The scales weighing this don’t have atoms as building blocks

A race worth winning

A rolling start gets the race underway

Around an ellipse holding everyone’s attention

With engines failing to tire, brakes aren’t needed

Fast or slow, the journey never stops

Through tunnels, mountains may be traversed

If already dug, the job’s easier

Connecting north and south

Ideals are raised, as the southerly traffic thins

Like wisps of cotton, only the lightweights rise

Struggling to stay on course for even a loop

With no traction on the road, hoping for merciful winds

Their rise or fall, banking on how the budding wings are tipped

The engines fire when the racers are ready

From mighty galaxies to a tiny thought

Everything revolves around a track

The center is dark, so are troubling thoughts

Reflecting on a mirror

The world is turned upside down

Not through darkness but by light

When hidden in the recesses of the heart

What is a mirror going to show?

Amusing spectacles would be worthless without the flame

Turning ice into water

Blowing bubbles in the silence of space

Is not a child’s play

Walking on clouds backlit by auroras in the north

Is a flight of fancy, but such is this place

A rocky outcrop with a sky for a Stetson

Holding fiercely competitive heat at bay