When it ceases

By Trinabh Razdan

Coal burns,
The fire ends.
Throw in some wood.
Shove in old leaves.
All to keep it burning.

If the flowers…blossomed throughout the year,
Wouldn’t paradise coincide with land?
Tears turn to raindrops
The air to petrichor
If it were true…

The tower of memories
Shall pierce the sky
With its eternity,
But this quill can utter
A rebuttal to said

It can say with blazing surety
Forever will collapse,
Eternity rendered mortal,
When the flowers cease,
When the mind leaves this lovely soil

As the day breaks,
A little Koel makes its way to my window
The chirp, The sweet
Breathes life into dead ears
But one twilight, the bird will go and go,
Till it vanishes in the garden of anonymity.

The fruits of the end have also a honeyed taste.
Produce that invigorates relief.

The strings of sentiment are cut.
Cut by the dagger forged with grief.
An element so tough, toughness crumples before it
But you know… time itself
Be the knot that joins that fabric

The touch of a mother
Melts the hardest rock,
Fixes the cracked ravines of bitter.

Where is it?
The button to rewind.
To rewind that touch.
To retract that orchid.
To recall breath.
I wish it were true…

He who pleads for timelessness,
A fool to ignore the beauty,
Of limits, of conclusion
To realise, the end is glorious,
The journey, as magnificent as bliss,
Is true understanding.

It has to come to a halt
Though, the truth is said
How to tell this innocent heart?
That coal burns
The fire ends.