Pa’s Flower Bed

 

Some flowers have grown,

Watch as my father’s eyes

Like fairies from the skies,

They glimpse his perfection; full blown,

 

Originated like earth; few seeds thrown,

Life hovers there, now, as butterflies:

Ecstasies on petals and good byes,

And his Godly muse over the beauty flown.

 

Father theirs, caresses bud each,

Expecting their arrival time, worried

Pours he dewy drops of smallest size,

And gentlest they sway with daughterly reach.

He ponders like the sun; they get energised,

Together even in dreamy nights, and then arise!

Bridal Gifts from the Maiden

 

Lo earthlings, heaven was never so near!

Indra’s thunderbolt enlighten and clouds cheer,

Child bride of yore;

Young lass returns for the marital bliss;

Aha! The rain returns to kiss

Forlorn, hot sighing partner ruing summer long,

Who out of excited warmth singths a song;–

First monsoon rain comes jangling,

Musical arrival upon the leaves swaying;

Small dances, embracing in dust still praying,–

‘Come! Come! Can’t bear more frying’.

 

Universal harmony pours upon mortals,

Many buds are here, awaiting to open petals:

See! Country maiden gone all wet,

Her heart thunder under her bosom to let

Loose, attire’s control sticking around,

Also, the social constraints squeeze and bound,

Thank thee O rain! She overcomes the latter,

Gyrates to see her contours natural; no bloater,

While, drops almost mate around her full fishy lips,

So many, of course, mischievously pat upon shaking hips.

 

O lone outsider with thy cattle herd,

Thank thy local deity for being heard,

Thou look so rainy in those shaggy clothes;

Suck up so much water to desert’s loathes,

Look at the reach of falling rain,

Even the hardest horns feel some lovely pain!

And they shut mouthed, stoically muse over the rare

Rain, which shrinks from the native land, as if not dare,

Then a sad reflection by closing heavy eyelids:

‘Gets my village same big drops, or not?’

 

 Birds still flutter around to chill,

Rain is hurtling down for life; not to kill,

Cares not the smallest world disaster floods,

Sacrifices it for cause greater, and no bloods,

Children run naked in the streets,

So many playmates fall with greets,

The rain is falling to rejuvenate again

Some sparkling in oldest eye for another begin,

Yes! First monsoonal harp is at our doorsteps,

Visible become as our footsteps.

Rainbowed Forehead

 

Optical phenomena in the sky,

The rainbow with spectrum colours,

I have my own on my forehead,

If they say space is infinite,

Contemplation ours can realise which,

Then my forehead is the same;

Like a sky after heavy shower,

Rain of struggle with reality,

And glimpses it when,

Just like a sun,

The arc of light shines,

Refraction of divine light on ideas mine,

The rain of ideas,

Just like falling water drops

Come in contact with the reality,

Deflect then to the unknown,

Never, never to return again.

Leave they coloured reality,

Colours seven showing the real,

Left I am with a rainbow

Arching across forehead mine,

Traces coloured of my encounter

With reality crowning forehead,

Worry I not failure with reality,

For coloured sparks I have got,

And a rainbow on my forehead!

My Fair Lady

 

Whenever stars start to fade,

And light seemst too far:

Too far to even shade

The dreams; as dark launches war.

 

Lightless, me comest across a cry:

‘For dimming light’s sake,

Please, go along and try

With smallest rays eyes make’.

 

Eyes, of course, where smallest

Sun shine in the middle,

Whom salty sea swallows:

Reflective more; solve riddle.

 

What if success embraces not,

And failure kisses many times,

Still, that smallest dot

Makest dark lady’s passioned rhymes.

 

O my sensuous dark lady,

Sip thou the nectar of toil:

Thy consenting embrace always ready,

Ye succeed to love, help me fail.

 

Ye crazy infatuated lover,

Thank smallest twinkle in my eye,

Urges which to try forever,

Makest thee my sweet ally.

 

‘Success’, the other lady thou abhor,

Keep thy love thus secure day and night,

And thy lover knocking at her door,

While, thy embrace squeeze with more might.

 

O my fair lady, worry not,

She now fades away quickly more,

While, thou makest best with nuptial knot,

Urges she in a hasty cry, ‘Again try, once more’.

O My Partner, thou art Beautiful than a Flower

 

April hast it, thus love springths;

For, whatever nature has to offer,–

Perfume! Flower crushed to suffer,

Vow! beauty’s oozes man bringths.

 

Tryst further; driplets for love draught,

Sprinkles the petals sacrificed on body fairer,

Which lusty lips lick from the bearer,

Ha! Tasty tongue now sought

The beauty which eyes once praised.

And the love processor from nature

Eyes many more bounties on offer:

New names for beauties bruised,–

Transformations new for the love cure:

More love licks from the graved door.

When I Love Thee Most

 

Beloved, when thou shrink in my arms,

And put thy lips on my thumping heart,

I feel sucked to celestial charms,

While thy long hair, like jasmine flirt.

 

Aha that twist of thy slender body!

Creeps which immeasurable lengths,

Infinite I feel, O my great lady,

Time’s measure lost; a second worth months!

 

Those wide voluptuous eyes closing

And parting somewhat betwix eyelids,

For other world they are opening;

In that fainting look heaven glides.

 

Still, I love thee not for such forgetfulness,

I do, of course, when remember thy bodylessness.

Kisses of Now and Afore

 

Beloved, don’t think that I’m

Speaking it out of ebriation;

Heart’s depth wine can’t fathom,

Only distilled souls scent gyration

Of body, heart; and her figurine

Moving, inspiring, cajoling for conception,

Which minds never normally design.

Oh! My unfaithful lover,

Me pine for thee as afore,

When thou flooded this heart with thy shower,

Whose wavering tinkles reached this mortal’s core,

Mortal still I’m; yet immortal!

For thy love always kindles soul,

Sleep thou now amidst that bliss marital,

And slap me as only destiny’s play foul.

Thy love lightly flickers still;

Thou adorn heart’s treasure tree,

Me, but, on the verge of fall from the hill,

Still, during the fall pray I’ll for thee.

Fate may qualify me as a lover failed,

Yet in defeat lies my greatest win,

For, my sweet failure destiny hast hailed

As the success of the Lord’s grin.

My drunken selfless heart wishes

Thou all the best in thy new start!

Worry not for the ‘meant to be ashes,’

Forget the kiss last and that falling apart,–

Now, thou lick sensuously for a cause,

And me left apart

Like the whisper of an unrequited prayer;

A dry wish that makest not any noise,

Thy voluptuous smacks sound liar;–

Lying to hide someone thou loved,

Who from destiny’s path never moved.

Ode to the Spring

 

Labour is in the air around;

Spring sun fades the wheat green,

Their grainy tops; ripening and ageing;

Million crowns from the clown’s kingdom,

Prepares as he for the labour duty.

Spring, the season of fruition, procreation,–

Nature’s ejaculations for kama-mahautsava,

Now when cold father makest love to mother warm,

First cries of numerous infants chirp around;

Picturesque gift, merge as they in one:

Spring is here, mature and blown full.

 

What a great time it is;

New comers smile first; do they cry!?

Flowers wild, isolated, conceived hastily–

Nettle, clover, primrose, thistle–

Worry they not uncaring parents,

Who, too sensuous, flow blindly,

And these small daughters or sons

Scent the solitude, wilderness around,

Play they with hurrying swallow tails

And fear not moths in the dark,

Mature as if, welcome they bees.

 

More flowers than eatables around,

The season with the message:

‘Reality lies in eyes, not mouth,’

New leaves, new colours, and hopes new,

Bunchgrass, weather beaten by the cold, relive new,

Reed warbler gets sinews new,

Hangs as it among lengthy stalks,

And nature lulls them through skylark’s beak,

Seemst it if a virgin maiden

Sings, dances wildly like grassy ‘wavy hair’,

Would be mother!

Enters the conjugal threshold now.

 

What if one fade in, and the other fade out,

Colours emerging or going out care not,–

The days are just matchless,

Spring, the season balanced; the day and nights

Cool warmed, or warm cooled.

The landscape becomes a garden,

Lie where so many beauties;

Each and everything beautiful,

Need not they, thus, caring special,

Urge is just to create new,

While, spring tracks the parental escapades.

 

Now, when waters go heavens,

Except the dewy rain of nights;

Waterbodies—puddles to ponds—start slimming,

Slimming like a narrow curve around the back;

The back of springy damsel.

More are seekers now; drops becoming divine!

Thirst forces more walks over banks transitory.

Smallest grassy worlds, tiny flowers, insects

Anguish not the hierarchy above:

Spring flowering from man’s to His kingdom,

Hides as the burying beetle; passes a foot near by.

Gypsy Girl

 

Like the mystical flower, seen here then there,

The lovely wild maiden, spring laden

Showst its non-periodic rare; not to care,

Stupefied eyes gaze but settlement ridden.

 

O flowery lass, thy breeze-driven gyrations

Prop winy drops upon tongues,

Still, thou unapproachable to focussed vibrations,

Through thy escapements caravan moves, singths.

 

How can thou be so heartless!

Not to fix eye somewhere for someone,

And always fly away without bestowing a single kiss!

What a classy heart to be won!

 

Gypsy girl, thou spread beauty’s message:

Sudden full arrival, lost then in a haze.

Sister

 

O my dear sis,

Time was then all bliss,

This once home thine, now miss

All that growing, evolving care and wish

Thy sweet happy return

To the place where you were born.

 

Thou for a greater purpose gone

To nurture life in some home,

Still, thy place becomes a shrine here;

Down to dusk, work with so much care,

I can still sense thee in this air,

Circulates which orderly, like my sis fair.

 

Thy virtues sing, commit when we mistake,

Great are the homes whom sisters make.

Some Lines for Some Time in Future

 

When thy eyes begin to glow dimly

And walk form not a rhyme with the body;

Flowers when gone for a single lily

And world's eyes see not once fair lady;

When even cup loathes thy shaky pout

And time engraves its loath on thy rosy cheeks;

Eyelids drop when for vision out

And life only but leaks;

When thy grey hair die day by day

And all crests shrink to troughs;

See thou not when a single ray

And violently shake thee those coughs.

 

Then dear, pick my book up,–

Where thy youth shines immortally,

Unhampered by the time's hand rough.

Far! Far! Somebody is in Need: Let Me Soak Miseries All

 

Let my tear drop

Where there is hunger and pain

And too many a sandy grain

For a single drop of rain;

Where in eyes drained, hopes never prop,

Lord! Let my eyes give fullest crop!

For their slightest pain

Let my heart bloody drain

The terrain, where death grope.

 

Let that infant’s puzzled look,–

Due to unholy experiences first–,

Cast gloom, pain over my face

For the childhood hanged by the hook,

Let me begone of my thirst!

Hold me back from the life’s race.

One Simple, Real Beauty

 

Country girl, I salute thee for thine rusticity;

That devoid of complexity, which

Bathes thee naturally without made-up artificiality,

Thou art only thou; not try to become such.

 

Least conscious about thy greatest gift,

Thou pour smile uninhibited,

Truth about thee never shift

Beneath thin layers venerated.

 

I like thee for what thou art,

Too little thou have to show other than thou,

Thy inner self and outer never part;

False seeds thou never sow.

 

Thou represent crystal clear beauty,

Thank God for thy farness from the city!

When Time was Helpless before You

 

Thou art beauty unchanged, unmoved

Just like that waterfall always the same;

Whose persistence running water can’t tame,–

That gracious continuity which time always pursued.

 

Thy gentle breezy state maketh time nude;

Attired if not by its changing game,

And thy beauty becometh a name;–

A picture which lives; never moved.

 

I salute thy infinite instantaneous beauty,

Thou smile and live for the beauty’s sake;

A beauty that was and will remain forever,

Time’s elements will try haughty,

But it can never take

So many jewels from thy lover.

An Orphan (or half orphan) in the Night

 

O child, where thy mother hast gone?

Standth as thou in this dark night,

Tears thy go waste; succeeds only moan,

Where ist thy absolute right to sleep quiet?

 

That mother, who shines as some distant star,

I doubt that she is too far;

Too away is the smiley spark to mar

The ghosts, and encourage thy tiny soul at war.

 

O thou two unfortunate ones,

Slept when together, time was once,

Now but both awake,

Why doesn’t she take thee away and make

A little star near her for thy sake,

So that cry thou not

and motherhood drown in sorrowful lake.

Duty to the Beauty

 

These tiniest showers fall,

Just like dream sweetest call

When we lie asleep,

Beloved, thy same slender sip

Through eyes leaves me wined;

As if in heavens I dined.

 

Those pouty fishy full lips;

Divine experience smitten tips,

And me smooched over them,

Plucked, then, the sweetest gem

Out of feminine treasure house,

Oh! Greatest fire it dost douse.

 

And thou fall for me

Like the windfallen flower to see

Its beauty fully blown;

Those petals having much shone,

Now was the time

To reach the prime.

 

O my beauty, I am the means to thy end,

Thou art Godsent,

And me the beauty’s supplement;

To be used for its fulfillment,–

Black bee for the bud virgin,

Beauty’s utility then begin.

 

What a great utilitarian, beauty!

So many boulders haughty

Corrode to die a death sandy,

So that river’s curves become more trendy,

Flows which then with a pride;

Starry eyes shine, O groomed bride.

 

I’m made for thee sweetlet,

Damn sure, I can bet

To exist away from company thine,

Thou but can’t without this pine,

And some say I consumeth you,

Me thus the blamers sue.

 

O my little flower, tell

Me a single one dwell

Immortal in this world

Without crusher’s press hurled

Around the petals soft,

While the perfume cometh

As the much cherished croft.

 

I exist for thee, O my beauty,

‘Complete thou’ is my duty.

Immortal Daughter

 

Ye black clouds amidst

Dark night knowst not,

How thy smallest daughter kisst

Slightest opening in bud’s pout.

 

Flower’s cherub and thine,

And sissy, hilarious time’s twin,

Thou seest not thy rhyme,

Pass thundering, lightening wink.

 

Huge! Thou dost overcast sky;

Time also takes mountainous leaps;

And flowers stretch heavenly eye,–

Thou three infinite parents.

 

Still, three children thine,

Only through them thy worth shine.

Love Someone’s Life Flower

 

Life, how much should I love thee?

And in which form and appearance?

Is it the one inside me

Or, the heart’s praise for that flower with fragrance?

 

The flower possessed by fear,

Love it is, or owner’s craze?

While, wildlife throbbing near,

And the flower still uncaught by

Someone’s love-net’s maze.

 

Why must a flower be loved?

Is it that it appears beautiful?

Or, love it creates which moved

An inward passion from death's pull.

 

O thou flower, I love thee more than the self,

For thou art the dreamy life unpossessed.

Glimpses of Something about Love

 

Where the light shines to the last ray

And night falls prey

Upon the rugged day

Sprawled mountains array.

And it raining to day’s last grey,

Drops shower darkness to lay

Solitude in night’s fray,

While the clouds thickening make way

For drunken wet night, which say

Like a drenched damsel makes hay:

‘See me not, for I foray

Hilarious hug in lover’s shrug, Oye!’

Vow, that eagerness! Sea ye

Seemst dying to see off the day,

Thy quivering pout through bay

Excites earth to foreplay;

Closing eyes to gentle breezy sway.

Alas! Eyes, imagination goes nay,

And the love scene blurs away,

Her sprawled hair put shadowy sway.

Immortal Beauties

 

When I think about the past,

Time’s load overcast

Rumbling clouds stretching vast,

So many beautiful things died; now aghast

Me remember them as alive for the last,

Alas, but life is so fast;

So many beauties annihilated in the merciless blast.

 

At each step a graveyard,

Present’s efforts fought hard;

Like versified truth from some bard;

Then coffin cradled, which once flowered

And whom this hasty runner favoured,

Now when time hath devoured,

Me prepare its next food; step as forward.

 

How impermanent, transient is life!

So many full flowers cuts time’s knife,

Still at each futuristic step we arrive

At something where newborns thrive,

And for more and more we strive,

Alas but, sacrificial presents only for the past’s survive,

And future’s tiny, trivial, momentous drive.

 

Are those graved beautiful flowers dead?

Whom no eye would ever read,

No! Seeds they are which time had

Furrowed along a path by someone who bravely lead,

Bloom they will again afore some eyes sad,

Whose present-past coexist and future dead,

My graved beauties then'll relive afore that bent head.

 

His senses lying rusting,

Still something in the dust goes bursting;

Swelling to Himalayan husting,

While illusion’s death hissing;

Dying before newborn rising

Above father’s head, where Gods watch praising.

The Saviour

 

When I think about the past,

Time’s load overcast

Rumbling clouds stretching vast,

So many beautiful things died; now aghast

Me remember them as alive for the last,

Alas, but life is so fast;

So many beauties annihilated in the merciless blast.

 

At each step a graveyard,

Present’s efforts fought hard;

Like versified truth from some bard;

Then coffin cradled, which once flowered

And whom this hasty runner favoured,

Now when time hath devoured,

Me prepare its next food; step as forward.

 

How impermanent, transient is life!

So many full flowers cuts time’s knife,

Still at each futuristic step we arrive

At something where newborns thrive,

And for more and more we strive,

Alas but, sacrificial presents only for the past’s survive,

And future’s tiny, trivial, momentous drive.

 

Are those graved beautiful flowers dead?

Whom no eye would ever read,

No! Seeds they are which time had

Furrowed along a path by someone who bravely lead,

Bloom they will again afore some eyes sad,

Whose present-past coexist and future dead,

My graved beauties then'll relive afore that bent head.

 

His senses lying rusting,

Still something in the dust goes bursting;

Swelling to Himalayan husting,

While illusion’s death hissing;

Dying before newborn rising

Above father’s head, where Gods watch praising.

The Saviour

 

He fell violently in love;

Big, stormy, illusionary ripples got a love-wreck,

And like life’s instinct when death doth attack

Only her image waved around him now.

In such a storm only the heart doth row,

While poor mind fell off the deck;

Logic struggled for its life behind back,

And storm intoxicated heart throbbed upon bow.

 

Logic but is such a slave;

Struggled it for a ‘follow’.

And storm when subsided to show the captain’s

Loss of direction; whom to look for a save?

Fortunately, mind stood there with a glow,

Saved, thus, from further delusionary pains.

Whose Success are You Going to Feast Today?

 

O sweet success, fragrance of nectar,

So many flowery moments got

Themselves killed for these clappings far,

Wined throats now celebrate a lot.

Suppose the flowers had lost for vain,

And bad fumes cometh out of the passioned flame,

That single bent head had bore pain,

Too many pocked noses had sought blame.

Aye! What one standth to lose or gain?

From the mob which gulps only by the name;–

Benumbed by victory; failure maketh insane;

One’s abhorred content changed there to lusty fame.

 

Thus the story of success-failure goes,

Prickles too many for a single rose.

Flower when thou did not know thyself as such; I saw thy beauty bloom much.

 

I watched a flower since birth,

Then a small plantlet greenish,

Whom eyes won’t distinguish

From the myriads born on the earth.

Grew it thus on its own mirth,

And devoid of any coronary wish,

Arose it then only affectionate kiss;

What a free hand for beauty’s birth!

 

Afterwards, I saw it budding;

Beauty which earlier knew itself not,

Got now aware of its budding heaviness,

And once small hatchling,

Stood, now, proud for flowery shot

By those full scented petals fresh.

That Unknown Place

 

Some deep forest it was somewhere;–

Oak, ash, elm, beech, sycamore,

Embracing, climbing vines dare

Heights where love opened door.

 

There love need not be made,

Rather it existed stoically,

And not as desire’s aid;

Stepped it out naturally, not frolically.

 

There leaves shone full green,

And grew pale after youth’s bloom,

Floated then downwards unseen,

Ha! O death, thy own doom!

 

The place, creator of its own destiny:

Accident, predetermination there fail,

Basks timeliness of instants many!

Wonder, whether they ever caught time’s tail?

 

Silent to the very core of silence,

Save some silent symphony by

Some bird larking by some unknown sense;

Noise of every sort there die.

 

Too unfamiliar a place,

Even to the sun partially known,

Curiously, thus, passes its face,

Doubting its fatherhood own.

 

Cloud crops fall into a world;

A world which its geography fathom not,

And in rumble-tumble they get rolled

Without hurt; Aaha! Cradle-caught.

 

The place where past seemed so evident,

Still present so independent!

And future with much secure accent,

Heavens! None from the trio lost with head bent.

 

Distance found itself unitless

Before the spread of that place;

Who can measure utter bliss?

Greenery that perplexed its face.

 

It looked as the centre of all goodness on earth;

As if God Himself comes there sometimes,

And rejuvenate all that mirth,

Persists which there as heavenly rhymes.

Flirtations with Life

 

Here I come to this small puddle,

Sit on its shore and feel water,

Scorching sun, wind hot, dust fly,

Oasis driven, I but ogle at the water only.

 

Boiling pot it seems; vapourising layers,

Few lives drop in it suddenly:

Sparrows few wet feathers there,

Lifefully they escape the rising dead water.

 

With my feet in water and

Chin domed upon hands beaming knees,

I see life flirting in dying water,

Skin hard, meanwhile, feels molecules going up.

 

'Life is here or there?' I think,

Mirages over ponderous small waves,

Oh Yes! Water dies but plays still;–

Flirt we have with life; death weds in the end.

Summered Sparrow

 

O brownie sparrow small,

Thou fly with harvested dust,

Aware thou become of nest’s call,

Her beak pants there with maternal trust.

 

Collect thou grains lost,

Noon time numbing heat; feathers beat

Upon peasant’s toil; now thy host,

Thy valiant jumps and crafty feat.

 

Sun-baked grains hardest,

Still, thou cut with cordial chutts,

Sawed Shakti makes thee worthiest;

Kitchen, water and eatable nuts.

 

Over parched terrain thou dart alone,

Agile, vibrant more, despite water gone.

The Carpet Maker

 

Who can understand the mysteries of life,–

Thrown entropy like a pack of cards:

Disarrayed, disjointed, unpatterened type,

And shreds we organise for some rewards.

 

Succeed when we in something,

We grin as destiny’s maker,

And if blow sinews away for nothing,

Chide destiny as the breaker.

 

If something precious is found on the way,

For valiant foot’s victory we hiss,

And if legs struggle for the destination far away,

Fault lies with His wish.

 

So, the question grows bigger till end,

When, perhaps, death answers with a helping hand.

Single Beauty for All

 

Like a lover this gentle breeze

Touches and then whisks slowly away;

Away to that flower and appease

Its beloved by soft petal’s sway.

 

I sense this flirting beauty’s charm;

Hilarious like a fairy gone drunk,

Cold I feel; while its passionate love warm

Everything around, for it has turned so frank.

 

Aha the merrymaking as if wined!

So many love bites from the maiden;

Too many! And all of them find

A different lover in the single beauty hidden.

 

Go on, O thou seductive houri,

For I count for nothing but a crazy lover’s fury.

Ode to an Early Winter Afternoon

 

The early winter afternoon singths

A rosy song for the balmy day,

The lyricist with littlest lines,

Whose beauty shines with silvery sunny rays.

 

Stoic storks having Spanish siesta,

While her cooings voice floral pink,

Oh, the snaily standstill fiesta!

The sages, guess what they think?

 

The sky’s muse from above,

With fancy-lorn eyes,

Bless-lorn it doth bow,

Vow! Small sashaying misty blessings.

 

And the evening all fancy-free!

Because whatever we can imagine

Becometh real with a glee,

With luxuriating steps she doth begin.

 

Spread out emotional landscape,

Protruding paw in friendship,

Its wild instinct nobody can escape,

And congratulating passes fresh air’s whiff.

 

The softy with its soft words

To her–the love-lorn farmer girl,

Whose fun and floridity buds

Open like a robust-hued pearl.

 

What a delicate weather it is!

As if clime is opening its taste buds,

Bravo be the beauty’s bliss!

Petal power smiles above the muds.

 

Oh the evening like a chubby child;

Eye catcher and pleasantly plump,

Half listens to the sun’s mild

Request for the reddish slump.

 

The evening with such rhythm

As the feministic ease of a belly dancer,–

The soul-stifler to its fathom;

Wheezing meteor by the curvy winker.

 

Therapeutic it seems

To the day’s bumps and bruises,

The day which wailed thinly, now beams

Gossipy; leisure-lorn it cruises.

 

Too quiet like serenest shower;

The fair hussy without being fussy,

Like Chrysanthemums for Christmas

Show no heed to the bee’s hurry.

 

Everything as if meditation brained,

And heart with all its waters coloured,

While foxy logic all drained,

As if a cradle from heaven gets lowered.

 

And when the night starts to fall,

Vanishing paradise doth it seem, aye!

While, the paradise giving a call,

‘Say me not a weepy-eyed bye’.

Ode to the Early Winter

 

Autumn thus goes for the early winter,

Coolness now starts to tinker,

Topsy-turvy like an anchor,

It takes hold through its lazy days,

When the sun with its cooling grey rays,

Sprays amusing tender maze.

 

A new canvas on easel for painting:

Farmers go working as if hunting,

Paddy’s brown sweep vanish to nothing,

And the barren fields get new beds,

Such a soft soil for the numerous heads

Of wheatlings, to prop up for survival breads!

 

Look autumn’s leaves brown!

Finally, foliage gets them thrown

From the deciduous with a shivery frown,

While the winter sings a lullaby,

As if to sleep a baby:

‘Too much thou played with summer’s gaiety’.

 

Winter flowers blossom bold,

Lo the dahlia, petunia and marigold!

Wonder, soft petals fear not cold!

And feathered friends from distant arrive,

As if only here lives thrive,

Ducks fly V-shaped to nature’s drive.

 

Rosy pastor, tailor bird and wagtails,

Painted stork, painted duck and common quails,

Because those wintery hails

In mountains force their sojourn here,

And same winter will take care

Of the visitors; whom season’s scold not dare.

 

Mynah, drongo and ecstatic barbler,

Depict they cool-spirited farmer,

The air now bothers not the above ‘warmer’,

Its sulphureous ebriety doth sweep

The hairy velvety grass and keep

The intoxication perpetuated to the deep.

 

The egrets fly drollingly,

In the air blowing genteelly,

The air! As if its spring coming courteously

With its flowery shiver,

Yes! It is airy-fairy’s spring here,

While, ebriated birdies fly as its flowers.

 

Such are the days of early winter;–

Fog, mist, dew, cold quietly enter,

Robustness, meanwhile, makes a small banter,

Vow, the invigorating Goddess smiles!

Blessing of wellbeing for miles,

While, the autumn goes for annual exiles.