(a vagabond. resides in Hyderabad , occasional writer and open to all sorts of literary explorations. poems question culture, tradition and values. )
You and I will return too in search of our roots,
When nothing will remain out of the faded and boring pleasures.
beneath the same bargad tree will I return
Where my roots look dying and decaying.
they lay dying.
Where the songs of the spring
And the raindrops of the monsoon
Once watered the whole city,
And where I have left the reason of my being.
I will embrace my roots
And will get immersed in that water.
and i will be able to meet all left,lost and unfamiliar leaves.
I wrote my love on the leaves of the fall
And accused the cold wintry breeze.
For losing them in the wilderness
As it is in its nature to carry away the leaves.
I recall those names carved in clay.
And blame the drizzle for its habit.
To wash away every colour
To let only white remain.