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.