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