 |
| Roopam Chadha |
Contemplation
The air is still, around the bare trees
Bereft of nests, and emerald greens
They once flaunted, during the spring and summer
The pallid sun, wakes up from its winter slumber
The park is lonely, lingering with sorrow
The homes are empty, a void too big to swallow
The dew in the grass, sits fresh for days
No feet run on it, no footsteps to chase
The glass window, witnesses the solitude and despair
The ochre leaves fall, after they have lived their share
The silence is deafening, after the evening gloom sets in
The ears crave, for the din of the kin
The wind is cold and dense, a whispering melancholy
The gnawing loneliness, yearns for company
Which filled the house, with guffaws and bonhomie
If winter is harsh, then spring will be balmy
