HM ( / Bangalpur, Balasore, Odisha, India)

The Last Spring

Stood like a lonely palm tree
Far away from green fields;
Stretching arms up
To touch the moon with a hope.
An angel would come one day
With cosmic fragrance
To open her misty eyes
In this field of despairs and hopes.

In an evening of the last spring
While the moon was glittering
In high blue sky,
Mischievous cold and
Sweet tropical warmth were around,
Felt the touch of a shy and sleek
Who fell on and rouse to the occasion
To latch on till the Sun is in horizon.

The breeze of the spring became exotic,
The moon played hide-and-seek.
She winked from a pregnant pond,
Hives of hopes filled with honey
Fell on the ground.
The bees of passions
Started dancing around.

Shy birds flew off and
Anxiety sat in,
Wild wishes set out and
The glowing worms entered through the skin.
Each stung broke the cement of innocence
While the flowery touch brought
The Ocean of wishes.

That spring though the last one there
Still blooms in the jungle of memories
Intoxicating to collect pebbles more and more
At the Ocean, for the museum of the expectations.


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