By: Rochi Zalani

Summer Night

 

 

I sit at last, free, under the summer night

The air is a dry, crispy, sweet bowl of warm soup

I read a chapter or two; then another and more

I clean my desk, to make space for an empty page

 

The table is too clean, my spine tight, jammed, stuck

I sit on the floor

With all its uneasy sitting, familiar dust specks,

It is homely

 

A bird has come outside my window,

unstiffening to constant chaotic movement,

Like me, free at last

A leaf has made the landing, heaving a sigh of rustle

 

I breathe with it, till the sun rises

The morning dew and the nightly air; they carry

a familial bond – made of scrapes of art, of solitude

Again, I arrive, at last, free, under the summer night.

 

 

Bio: Rochi Zalani

 

Rochi Zalani  is a staff writer at Elite Content Marketer who relishes fresh poetry.

She talks about books, poems, and the troubles of everyday life on her website.

If you believe there is nothing that cannot be cured by some Mary Oliver poetry or a F.R.I.E.N.D.S episode, subscribe to her weekly newsletter. 

 

 

 

 

 

We’re always looking for the next inspiring poem, a how-to or problem-solving post for writers and bloggers, a personal essay about literature, an author review or interview. 

If you need an additional platform for your writing, consider a guest post today. Here are the guidelines.