A Choreography – Deepthi Nair


Mayhem it is,

When the wind surges on to kiss the treetops,

Fuelled by the rhapsodies of turbulent rain drops.

All goes quiet once the leaves are drenched,

Bowed down, by the love offered.

The whirly wind leaves delighted,

Humming to the mirth of the drizzle retired.

Spring again, for the rustic meadows

Dancing in line with the breezy tunes.

Haughty flowers with their vibrant hues,

Cuter ones with their gentle charms

Those quirky sorts with the rarest scent

All together with a sublime hint.

Springs are here to come again

Lose not those hopes, for you will gain

Winters are not forever meant,

For hibernations to be not transient.


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