And then after a tiring day
before resting Himself
He splashes a glass of
orange juice on the blue tent
gifting us the illuminating twilight,
blows a strong whiff
swaying the stalks of the Chinars
and
chunks of Gold
tumble down the browns,
sleep near my feet,
they are dry, wilted,
but not dead yet
their crunchy wails assure,
their silent laments recite,
their veins still coursing
the semi fluid juice, “life”;
countless such delicate lives
lay scattered on the arid earth
pumpkin, cinnamon spices
allure my senses
misty veil blankets my sight,
orange fades paving way
for the glistening lilac,
the moonless dusk sprinkle
zillions of stardust
and then
a tiny maple leaf
slipping from the thin branch
lands on my arm,
Sigh!
every fallen spirit is delighted,
their aged fragrance narrate
hundreds of untold stories
thousands of unsung lyrics
every vein, every capillary
piping The Farewell Tune;
their voyage was debilitating
enthralling at times,
some- stepped on them
some- hid them in between
the love’s pages
some- captured them
and a few withered ones
who had no place to go
wandered to some unknown land
with the ever-wandering breeze
to spread its golden hues to the needy,
they withstood the showers
braced the scorching warmth
burnt along the rims
and now it’s time to bid adieu,
yet in the final hour
their vibrant brush stroke
paints the canvas in
gold, orange, brown and rust!!
Picture Courtesy: Anushi Batra
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