By Jailaxmi Vinayak
The sun
Mornings are a poem
When smoky fog descends
On dreamy houses
Dense with foliage green,
Nestled in deep arbours
Lie the fledglings of
Blue beaked bubbly bird,
Peeping curiously through
Screened drapery of leaves,
Pondering to chirrup
Once sun strikes its wand.
When sun peeps from behind the undulating hills
Far above the lush green meadows
Shielded by the slender trees
Which Invade to caste their
Shadows despite
Fog, indistinct sun rays and shivering winter;
Happiness permeates my persona.
A little sunshine
Brings rays of
Abundance and
A miraculous bloom.
The sun touches the earth with its
Ambar light wand to paint the newly blossomed flowers
In its own sheen.
The window is swung open;
The sun is on the threshold
Releasing all that is
Fake and Phoney
Like cheap trinkets
I relinquish
To march triumphantly hand in hand with sun
Enjoying its vibrancy, warmth and divine light.
One has to sacrifice a lot to
Become an aficionado.
Dr.Jailaxmi R Vinayak