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?
Dubai
29th April 2013
Geeta Chhabra