The once heavy, arched bough now lay bare and stunted.

The weight of sorrow had replaced the weight of its envy.

-

I am sand from the desert.
You are water from the river.

Journeying to the shore
where we may meet.

-

I wonder why there is, no law of conservation of Nature,
Quite like the law of conservation of energy.
For I see our room, strewn all over with furniture,
That must have come from mountain timber.

Just then the shrill chirp of a cuckoo out the window,
Pierces my ears and fills me with a sad realization.
Maybe she came looking for a nest in our dead furniture,
That surely came from mountain timber.

I now know why there is, no law of conservation of Nature.

-

We weep of happiness
and we weep of sorrow.

As if the concept
has been borrowed from
the rain of the storm
and the rain of the rainbow.

-

The summer we summoned
in each others embrace,
had long wilted under
Winter's shrill whisper.
The longing we flamed
in each others eyes,
had long submitted to
Autumn's​ misty vapour.

Yet there flourished the
spring of our season,
and in its shade cradled,
the fruit of our union.

-

The trees shed their
leaves in exchange for
keeping us alive.
Nature oscillates daily
between sacrifice and
achievement.

-

The reddish brown hue had begun to give way to snowy white. As if someone had poured excess milk in black tea. The flowers seemed to shed their egos and wore monochrome.

The nest too was filled to the brim with sharpened, knife like flakes, threatening to consume the lives yet to flower. The crow circled overhead cawing incessantly, itself covered in white, helpless to the plight of its yet unborn young ones. As it looked around, there wasn't a soul. The whole town wore a desolate look as if hibernating in the cold.

Just then the sky decided to change clothes and seemed to turn reddish in the distance. As if returning borrowed currency to the oak. Soon, the warmth began to spread and the whites seemed to melt. The crow landed on the branch harbouring its nest, cleaned away the debris with the tip of its beak, looked at the hatched young ones, and cawed one long last time.

In gratitude to the Sun which had risen to the rescue.

-

The dew drops too had a story to tell.

For only a tiny few among them
found an oyster,
that would gleefully accept
and nurture them into
the glistening pearl,
which would form the jewel
that adorns a sinewy neck.

While some found solace,
in the redolent hug of the
freshly manicured green brigade,
serving to quench the
thirst of the grasshopper,
which lay camouflaged and
for their arrival, fervently prayed.

Yet others hung trapped in air,
metamorphosing from bubbles
that floated on the night sky
only to be halted midway,
consumed by the dry envy
of surrounding cacophony.

The dew drops vanished and so did their story.

-

*Harvest*

The tip of the three feet high stalk seemed to glisten in the sunlight, simultaneously swaying under the command of the soft warm breeze.

[Full story in caption]

-

Near the fields of endless expanse
Across the rusted gate that creaked
There lay in disguise men of war
Under the cloak of earthen emblem
Ready to rise to the bugle of duty
Even from the depths of death.

-