Morning of Despair
Cool, scented breezes of early dawn
In Srinagar from Dal Lake are
Reaching far off stretching the
The whole circle, drawing a tangent
And joining Foreshore and Boulevard
Together, its a new day, birds from
Nearby apple orchard from some unknown,
Neighbours garden are singing
Some senescent hymns from past
A giant tree that had blossomed
Flowers on a beautiful, spring day.
Had shown no sign of decay
Sun was swatting them with its warm
Showers striking straight accurately
Guided beams, turning the garden
Into a gold mine, the prickly grass
Under the bower appeared more
Like a burning carpet with
Their heads yielding sparks out
Like someone was dragging
The match stick across the
Striker strip, tufts of smoke was
Rising from the nearby field,
Turning everything gloomy,
A spang of despair took over the
Birds and signs of melancholy
Echoed, and was visible in their songs
A woodcutter with a rusted axe
Was hitting the dark brown skin
That had given shelter to insects
Mosses, lichens and some yeasts.
Flowers started fading their colours
With every stroke of the axe
The cut was getting deeper
And deeper, the tree stood
Tall, showing no signs of suffering
All its secrets were out,
Standing naked in front
Of a vandal, showing no whiffs
Blossoms died away and tree
Fell, avoided making any sound
Or shriek, blossoms withered and
Scattered, like they were blessed
With some temporary wings!
