We can’t make anything of you;

like an albatross

you float somewhere up there –

stopping now and then to feed yourself

and glance around to understand

– without really engaging yourself in – earthly matters;

your words float alike –

not allowing you to be close

to anyone

and forming balloon-like spheres,

which are empty inside and

explode with a small prick;  

often we see you in the space above our heads –

like a bird eternally in flight, you hang in there

not coming closer, not moving away, not saying anything.

It’s part of my current series “Fragility, Transience and Transcendence” 

Poem and photo: Sanchita Chatterjee