(Written In Early March, On A Pensive Evening)
The light profusion,
mango gold, shimmering
diffused in the early March evening
leaving scattered shadows
sprinkled to the ground
like dusky petals strewn around.
A chill has enveloped the air
Tiptoeing with flair
Like on any silent evening,
Poetically, an Early March Day.
Evening is the time to draw the curtains.
As the glow-worms sparkle in the dark
and crickets crackle like valiant warriors
Drawn irresitably to the dying light
Now captured in translucent lamps
They lay siege to the sparks of light
In their unfailing unflinching efforts,
Armours clad, The shining knights
The moths fight the spell of the night.
Pattering the panes,
A light unsure rain had fallen
Waking insects up and moods sullen.
Strolling in the evening,
Near the willows weeping,
Reminiscencent of the rain,
Nostalgic blossoms bloom in vain;
Straying vague scents afloat
Solitary harbringers of emotional notes.
Memory takes a flight of stairs in hunches
Reaching the dripping forlorn branches
Leaving soaked in the flickers alight
Of real & reflected colours of life,
That remain the leitmotif of impresions alive.
Autumn arrives at the heels of summer,
And spring at the close of a winter day.
But here my poem delves in evenings
Left to ponder on life’s pensive highways,
Silent sullen moods that creep in univited, yet stay.