The road was lit in a wild flower frenzy –
a fray of ferns wayward and hapless,
yellow trees rose in a tumultuous melee
with battered rocks fragmented and strewn like shrapnel.
Crisp cracks housed the dust in the grey concrete;
dry buttresses boasted of mossy branches;
browning bushes sneaked up suddenly like bandits,
as hoodlums of frogs croaked from their muddy trenches.
A monarch of a tree stood nethermost
with leaves that seemed reddened by the smouldering sun –
a retinue of shrubs and copses it did boast,
while the rings on its trunk revealed it to be an old one…
A line of half covered pines played host;
the sudden breeze from the valley mocked the orange burn;
and in such charming confusion and chaos,
the intruding poet’s imagination took the liberty to run!
A walk in the wilderness up to the charred chasms,
brought out these verses of time in ruin and preserve;
Oh, how Nature had paid her green ransoms
yet managed to keep secret beauties in reserve.
© Isha Garg