“The winters went away too soon,
Bidding a farewell to the inhabitants of Doon,
Whenever the season turns a new leaf,
I find myself spiralling into the blue lagoon,
It’s as deep as the midnight blue,
Which can hinder you vision, and make you fall into the pit of slow succession.
Whenever the season transcends into a softer hue,
I find myself spiralling into the blue lagoon.
I find it difficult to swim in the ebb, and flow of life,
And dance with the rhythm of life.
The summers are being welcomed with open feathers by the avian species,
And the stubborn sparrows are ganging up again to build nests in the crevices of the ceiling.
The changing mood of the season slurps my creativity,
I feel like an infant wanting, and waiting to be protected by a fallen angel.
When the season blooms,
I feel like diving deep into the blue lagoon,
Everything seems as useless as a spade in the hands of a woman,
Who fears ruining her fresh manicure.
Even the songs I hear from the playlist that we made,
doesn’t shake my sleepy conscience.
And the rising sun filled with riot of colours looks grey, and dull.
These deranged feelings though troublesome realises me, I am here for no particular reason.
It alienates me from my self, and from the worries of the contemporary world,
So I keep reminding myself that such indolent vacuity of thoughts are a work of the devil.
After which, I slowly, and timidly push myself out of the blue lagoon.
To oil my fragile heart to stand against the self-destructive thoughts.
As I reach the shore, I pant, and sneeze, and roar.
I warn myself, your thoughts can change colours more than a chameleon.
So I go back to cleaning the window panes, and repotting old seeds for the new season.“
Let thy spirit be high in love. Namaste