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The Indigenius' Den by Ankit Kumar is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 India License.
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Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Withering Greenery

Love, it seemed, was in the air,

All was lovely when she was near.

Those splendid afternoons, out in the sun,

On the green grass, like velvet to the skin!

There never seemed need for a park’s bench—

Most were always occupied—

We always found shelter under a tree,

I had her and she had me!

Afternoons turned into evenings,

Evenings turned into night—

It rained, I remember,

As if gods revolted with all their might.

There are afternoons now too,

But, it’s only me and my loneliness.

The tree, which was green, is dead,

It didn’t even wait for the autumn!

The grass is withered away,

And she’s lost somewhere…

The park benches are empty,

No one to occupy them.

The sun is hid behind the clouds,

Helplessly peeking but not winning.

Nature, it seems, is celebrating my sadness,

Crying out loud with me;

The rains have me drenched,

Soaked till my very soul…

Stirring it to the core,

And my tears are lost in this mad rush.

When will this rain stop?

When will the sun shine again?

When will those flowers smile at me again?

When will this park be full again?

I wonder, I hope, I pray

And long for those afternoons.

A voice inside me says, “Have patience”

Was it her? I wonder…

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