The dawn of the day, bathed in golden ray
The heavens that were twinkling
Are now fading away.
They scatter like sparks
Their abode lights with flames bright and mellow
The zephyr takes a start, ready to blow
It’s under their wings, now they wade and flow
The seven-coloured bow pierces the undulating masses
Compelled, they fall, the drops of elixir
The dew drops on the blades now drool and splutter.
The embers are dying,
The blossoms are vying;
The space is confined, now they’re opening wide –
Where coloured wings fly,
Where twittering and buzzing are not limited to the sky.
The splash of colours, intermingling feathers
Seamless as they seem
Tranquil and serene.
Spreading their freshness,
Leaving a trail of effervescence.
The mauve pansies, dangling as if through mid-air,
Laugh with the sunflowers,
Sharing secrets like teenage girls.
The old men – the leaves, in a trance, move in whirls.
The capricious breeze
So abstrusely blows
In the balmy ambience
A bairn sits and adores.
The sensuous cajolery
Like a dandle enraptured
Inspires to fantasise a fantasy.
The rivulet is garrulous
The bairn is immobile,
Beholding the jackdaws that embellish the isle.
The old men are macerated,
The chick lings emancipated.
The rollicking romantic, saunters for naught
Nonchalant a smile, presents each novice he meets.
Nothing abstract a thought;
Only palpable by heart
The anxiety is quiescent, only to rearm later.
The tern is tendentious towards the now turquoise heavens.
The bairn in his vagary, vascillates now and then.
A wavelet of the breeze hits him again.
I want to take you and show you
The land in which I wish to grow,
Not fantasy, not utopian
There’s a place, I know….
