A QUARTER FOR SPRING
K. Vijaya Babu
Like the days
of yester months ripening to the core,
the mellowed
leaves drop one by one again to the clay,
from which
they took life, giving the young leaves,
the music of
their parting hearts.
Drop down old
leaves; you can cheer the world no more!
This is time for
spring, tender sprouts,
buds and fragrance.
The mellifluous song
of the winged bard is
a mother’s lullaby
pouring forth a new sap into their tiny muscles.
Farewell to you,
frost – nailed winter, our beloved spring has come!
How the
little blades of leaves come out
erecting
their heads from the suppressing land
to see and
conquer this vast, mighty earth,
a revolt and
victory, the world is theirs!
Breaking the ennui
of long winter’s sleep
Spring is again busy
like a deft, callous painter
Throwing hues
handfuls everywhere,
Imprinting warm
kisses on the tender cheeks of the sprouts
like an unseen,
mysterious mother.
Get lost winter,
dissolve and disappear!
Let spring come with
a gentle pace
into our barren and
dying lives
and creep through
our dead roots, awakening desire.
Our hearts are agape
for a shower of love.
Flood through us
with a new force, mirth and hope
to reap a new, rich harvest in days to
come!