An Encounter In Spring

By Garvita Singh

A seed in the wild, near a stormy seashore,

Tiny and hopeful, unasked, uncared for.

Rooted under a tree.

Permanently.

With no branches,

bark ringed with grudges.

Of many shades,

blamed to spades.

The seed in the wood,

wept all he could.

The tears soaked through,

and the seed grew.

Of his own tears, of his own smiles.

Dreamt of some free and protective miles.

Only to be held back now and then again.

Plastered smiles, agony and pain.

The seed grows now, faded but strong.

Squints at the sun, pulls right out from wrong.

He waits and waits, for some more days.

A few more tears, a little more sun rays.

He looks at the sky and talks to the blue,

Violet and indigo and the orange hue.

Sometimes it rains harder than he thought.

Quenching of thirsts, vanishing droughts.

Rolling down a plantlet’s tiny green bud,

Drops the drop of water with a little thud.

It lands on the face of the teary weary plant

And slides down his stem with a gentle slant.

Startled he looks and asks her a question

About the irony of his own miserable situation.

She begins her beautiful tale and ends it as soon.

In a hurry she seemed for the upcoming typhoon.

Rainbows are made when seven colours dwell.

I am not one of those, I am not too well.

Neither I make rainbows the pretty arch they are,

Nor I am able to stop the storms going bizarre.

I am a raindrop, a little one indeed.

One of the millions but still worthy.

I am not the rainbow, I am not the colours.

I am a droplet, and I make up the sea.

By Garvita Singh