An Account


Who has planted this mood
upon me?


The reed is silent,
closed up in grief.


The rosy hue of the rose
is no more.


The tulip-bed has no face to show,
for it is barren.


The trees of shade are bleak,
within the girdle of extinction.


The veering moon is a watcher
Of my tumultuous fate.


The sun is a mass of fire,
waiting to see my end.


The blue light in the sky,
appears black to me.


From the alchemy of life,
how should I be?



29th April 2013


Geeta Chhabra

Geeta Chhabra Comment Form
Form a link. Comment inside the box below. Your views will be published in a coming edition.