Pappus

By Geethanjali Dilip

Some gloomy afternoons hum a beautiful melancholy,

That holds a pallid lily -white muslin of silence,

Like the ones that palpitate in the air after the storms have come and gone,

The ground still damp and the turf breathing a freshness so green,

Tree trunks like Yule logs of a sweetness one cannot really taste,

Soaked in the nectarine rain of nostalgia I brew all by myself,

Yellow sun like carpets of pollen drenching the earth in the August matinée,

As I watch the foliage dripping the last verdant emerald drops,

Reluctant to let go of clouds that flew from oceans,

But clouds are clouds!

I watch the dale enveloped and the glen draped in the translucency of the after shower,

Like a bride flitting down the aisle as songbirds croon,

I soak in the moment watching the pappus of desert roses,

Releasing themselves to drift away like forgiveness,

In love with the air around where nothing holds back freedom,

Except the gravity of the past,

The afternoon throws longer shadows like thoughts trailing away into oblivion,

As I walk with the dusk of graceful closures blushing like that bride daring new dawns,

As pappus fluffs dance ascending to realms higher than boundaries,

To plant themselves in new forests of hope.

By Geethanjali Dilip