The Seasonal Fruits of Our Youth

 And there you sit

Amidst the latest shower of monsoon

That gives way

To the vapour, radiating in the autumnal air

There you sit.

 

And there you keep on gazing like a feverish dog

Gasping heavily

Lamenting for the dawn.

 

And here we sit --

Here - where nowhere bridges here and there

Till the moment the gaze is frozen

The cold, fervent snow eats our dream

In the morgue.

And there

Our son awaits our youth.

 

Our youth -

Our apple pie is getting cold behind

The Christmas Tree.

Four years later, I still see

How people strangle innocence with beauty

Of multiplied growth.

How on a red summer evening

You and me

Stare at the ghostly Christmas Tree

That pine for the winter

Bright

and free.