The stoutness is now broken
By a whirlwind fury of storm
The sap silently weeps out in vain
The bud that had dreamt of skies
Cradled on the highest twig so far
Now bursts into an unthinkable dust
The mast that was pride of flutter
Dips into the frightful waves of time
That so far he rode with disdain
The saddle gets dismantled and trips
Such is this painful collapse into time..
The leaves softly whisper to apologize
Into the shrivelling ears of nipped bud
“Wait for your clime ,
When presently survival is fortune ,
Bring life where your fall
And in your highest twig ,
There will be sap from soil”.
Delhi
2051
8.58 hrs
19.3.23
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