Blossom

Blossom

My lines brim with joy

and the happiness of rebirth.

Let the Krishnachura tree dance

gently to my tune,

while embracing the earthly smell

of monsoon.

Still searching for the mysteries,

the mysteries of green engulfed

through the eyes of amazement.

None of them followed

the footsteps of rhythm.

Why?.

Writing the never heard before

theories of blossom,

I found sources of endless

ripened happiness.

Stripped top to bottom,

engrossed myself

looking at the far falling stars,

beneath the sky.

Jumbled up tune of eternity.

Trapped temptations.

The window at my bed side

blocked the passage of free thoughts.

Yet I brought pocketful of juvenileness

to patch up with the monotonous

rain drops that keep falling

in between the gaps of my breathe.

I keep smiling through my chapped lips

to see you victorious.

Wishes are special for you,

might be my lines too.

Your footsteps are my blanket

to warm my little world

with tiny emotions.

I stare at the evergreen presence

of my old Krishnachura.

Wrapped within my words of joy,

postulating every space of it.

Your name is imbibed.

Stony it is!.

May worn out but never abolish.

I polish it with my truest sense,

as it shines but never fades…

* Krishnachura(in Bengali) is better known as the ‘Gulmohar Tree’ in India. A tree that blossoms flamboyantly with brightly coloured flowers and aesthetically attracts poets all across India.

-Nil

9^th June, 2012