What stars shine upon them,
to touch me through my eyes;
morn to dusk,
not easy to surprise!
I saw them following me.

 

Like a hurry,
nowhere they stopped to grow;
on stump and stem,
I watched them bounce
along the railway tracks and slopes:
as children to the butterflies’ play,
they arose.

 

Wider than the sky,
the very nearest to me
flourished on someone’s gate:
little brooks of life,
in compact crowns—
of white, yellow, brick-red, magic.

 

With gay delays, I viewed them
as colours of astral light,
summoning myself to reflect
on attempted dreams.

 

And I brimmed with Hope!
 
2005

                          

Geeta Chhabra