Nov 25, 2022
A Reunion
Sometimes it’s too late and yet worth it..
The tree and the breeze were a family.
They were not supposed to be.
The worms bellying on the trunk
were unhappy with this association.
The gush distorts their clitellum,
complained the crawler ingesting a microbe.
It perturbs their afternoon nap,
grumbled the bees
but it has only bequeathed peace,
protested the leaves!
Then,
one day the breeze left for the hills,
betwixt the mountains, it found a new home.
The snow and the beer greeted the breeze
with a welcoming cheer.
But is it so easy to let go of your kin?
Each blow which arrived with the smell of wood,
each sound wave which brought notes of rustling leaves,
each transpirated droplet which convoyed the warmth of the real home,
whirled a greater longing inside the breeze
turning its core into a thousand tornadoes.
And then came the hot wind.
Just like in the olden times,
the telegram channeled a dreadful sensation,
the hot wind was infamous for its speed
and for a bad lead.
Their beloved tree had been uprooted from their home.
The tall, dark, spreaded branches which graced the Lodhi road,
the lush green shade which sheltered the birds,
the budding lavender flowers which brightened the corridor,
were all gone.
Who had thought,
the hefty brown trunks that protected the boundaries of the cremation ground
will one day burn on the same pyre.
While the pundit chanted the mantra for peace in heavenly abode,
the breeze gushed out a blow of pain,
clitellum of the worms swirled again,
and the sleepless bees blinked in shame.
The death of a common love
made them recall,
that they were a family,
after all.
Grief does not change you, Hazel. It reveals you. ~John Green
If you felt something while reading this poem, please leave a heart in the comments. :❤️
