The Shades of Four

Gently kisses the fragrant breeze

The heavy scent of dewy blossoms
The sons of Nature yawn and stretch, drowsily
And wake and unfurl from their spell of deep slumber
To the lingering hum of spring glory

The warm rays mature and grow bolder
And life gushes through the veins of Nature
While the birds bathe in the golden Sun
The cool sun-kissed waters dribble through the creek
The mango blossoms now hang heavy with juicy pulp

The heavenly drops of nectar
Quench the thirst of the parched earth
The chill breeze laced with subtle petrichor
Drops of blessings of Nature

Finally arrives the dry chill frost
The lifeless branches withered and barren
Slipping through its final minutes
In the freezing grave of snow and ice.

Comments

My Quiet Hours Doodling

(Doodle by author) Those strokes hold some power over my soul. Every stroke of black ink on the paper carries my flow of zen. I feel my zen flowing through the bold lines of ink, as it seeps into the thin paper and leaves an imprint on the next page, like a faint footprint of time on a page left unwritten, a sliver of the blank pages of the future. I feel my throbbing anger, roaming curiosity and emotion trapped within drain from my veins and flow out like ink. It calms the raging storm within, liberates the compressed frustration, when emotion and doubt cloud my sight, when I cannot quite find answers to questions within. I let it take form. I let my mind and soul wander on paper, and they imprint traces of great wars fought in turmoil. I let the strokes clash into one another; some overshadow others, some lie far apart. Yet, the raw self cannot bear rules. I let the imperfections rule the paper, and that is what makes me raw, real and human. In the end, the wild strokes embrace and I...

Saffron

The snow of the mountains, still Bear the scarlet stains of your final act, The crisp, solemn winter air of Pinglan, still Stands a witness to the last moments of greatness. Even on your human case crumbling, The brilliance of your sacrifice Shone through the valiant bullet wounds. No matter the ages that trudge through, The rousing drum of your strength, Bravery amid paralysing pain, Strength amid the chaos, The sincerity of your offering, Like that of the great Kunwar Singh, Will echo in my heart for a lifetime. Your willing welcome of the last second, Pushes me to transcend the trivialities of life, And readily sacrifice what man holds on to, For a purpose greater than myself Or anything that I call my own. The unfathomable love and pride you nurtured For the soil that we shared, Stirs my soul to rise to the occasion, And fight till the very end, Even if it meant sacrificing myself. As you arrived home, after months of separation Wrapped in streaks of saffron and emerald, Our h...

Reminiscing

(Photo by Nong Vang on Unsplash ) It was a still, quiet night. The air seemed untouched by the maddening chaos in my mind. I glanced at the night sky, and spotted a star glimmering in the distance. The unusually gripping sight brushed me back to a fragment of my past, a chapter sealed long before. A whiff of my past my naive self still lived in. A life I had long left. I used to enjoy observing the tiny flickers of light, while my heart filled with hope for tomorrow. They looked like little flames whose glowing tips waltzed in the gentle evening wind. Those quiet, fulfilling moments spent squinting at tiny specks of light, while savouring the crisp air with traces of floral detergent from the clothesline, were one of a kind. Something no productivity chart would ever be able to explain. It was something I was not yet accustomed to; living a new life with new people, making new memories. Those little joys and fears that would excite my younger self. It's moments like these, moments...

fledgling

Search This Blog