Short Poem

THE LOST WING

The neem tree lost its left wing.
I witnessed the sacrifice.
She was in no reluctant mood,
Although her veins wept in vain,
Silently.

The wood is tender for the money is not.
The food it fetches for the family
Of those deprived of essentials.
WOMEN---all middle aged---three of them
Continued with the blow,that has
let them out of their homes.

The second woman at the middle,
With her half-starved consistent blows
Let the branch drop to gravity,
Now the fate of an amputated trunk.
The fateful trunk found her place
At the bosom of the lower wing
For a while, until its fight against flight.

It made room for the A/Cs
Of the old school building
For the Neem tree is left out
To cool the world outside.

Now deprived of her left wing
And thus her identity,
Divided among a few
Of unworthy origins.




ROUTINE

The Winter spell
Never sends jitters to the flora.
With every dry leaf and bark,
It sheds off the past, a move into eternity.

As the tedious gathering of sublime energies
Get carefully cremated in the air,
My belongingness even gorges deep
In the abyss,the bosom,the warm womb.

The newer sequence takes time,
To proliferate its predecessor's gene
And is welcomed by cohesive nurturing.

The carnival begins,with a note of revolt
To the much hailed Greens-----Obliterated.