Tangled in the brush by Gautham Pradeep

A large tree in the middle of green woodland. Large white text reads: Tangled in the brush. Smaller text reads: Discussing disabled characters in fairy tales and folklore.

Past,
we know not.
Cherry blossom,
never did I endure.
Spectral rays emanate from the eternal owl,
know not I, mine cocoon.
Forever lost in the moonlit shallow,
an apple rotten at heart.
Sunken I am in the shifting sands,
returning home nevermore.
 
Wintery dawn and the whimpering tree line,
both drenched in the oblivious green.
From inside the moonlit cottage,
hear I my mother’s calls.
Calls,
my torn yesteryears still search for.
Run I towards her,
my face lingering in the vicinity.
Voices I do hear,
clouding the tears I shed.
 
Oh,
I know not why I am blind.
Blind,
to the oasis in my vicinity,
a cloak over my futility.
 
Days,
they never did caress my aching self,
lost in a patch of puerile limping.
Know I this photograph of old,
vanish soon into the grayscale.
 
My mother,
I would part ways with,
for chained we are to the eternal gale.
Forget I never,
the life she cared for,
nor the void my whimpering solitude
craved for.
 
It is the mind which suggests,
a puppet that garnishes the midnight gloom.
That which pulls apart the cocoon of youthful gallop,
leaves a bower empty for innate sway.
A string of cotton held against the foggy morrow.
A queer lady sobbing in the distance.
 
Yet part I not,
with the celestial ringing
in my apple seed of existence.
Live I this moment,
listening to those calls of hope.
 
Roots that entwine in morning's glory,
numbs the eyes that search.
The unhindered moonlight lures and testifies,
my misadventure into the marsh of desire.
 
Now I am here,
amidst the chirping bulbuls

and the view of the eternal Selene.

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About the author:
Gautham Pradeep, currently 22 yrs of age , was born in Kerala, India, in a town called Thalassery. He did his schooling in Bangalore and is now pursuing his MBBS course from Srinivas Institute of Medical Sciences and Research Center. He tries to explore the existential dilemmas of the present generation. Apart from writing poems, he indulges in butterfly breeding and painting occasionally.