in

The Farewell Song

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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Dynamo

Written by Sonali Ray

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