Dragonflies
A dragonfly shimmering in the morning light,
bright hues of red across its body,
paused in front of me on the footpath.
And then another stopped by.
They didn’t stay long,
enough to appreciate their precision
and to notice several dragonflies
soaring overhead and around me.
Dragonflies rest in tall grass.
And when there isn’t any,
they cannot rest and frantically fly overhead
in droves, searching for a place to land
their worn bodies.
I learned this the last time the grass was cut short
and there were hordes of dragonflies in the air.
Here I thought I was witnessing
a miracle of nature.
But it was only that their beds were destroyed.
I don’t want to compare insects to humans
who have lost their homes
to war or savagery from their fellow man.
But when entire cities are flattened,
razed like the tall grass,
I can see why people behave like these dragonflies.
Circling, swirling, racing
to find a new place to rest.
Except the shimmers are their tears,
and the bright red hues are
streaks of
blood.
An American in Kerala 