The End

By Chaitra Ramalingegowda

I don’t want today to end,

nothing special, quite mundane;

I touched the whisper soft petals

of a red rose in bloom,

inhaled its heady fragrance,

that tipped up my lips.

I don’t want today to end,

nothing special, quite prosaic;

I held a newborn in my arms,

with her soft breaths

reaffirming the beauty

and loveliness of innocence.

I don’t want today to end,

nothing special, quite prosaic;

I took in the last of the dying sun,

that bid adieu to a humdrum day,

with the promise to be back,

leaving me a tad melancholy.

I don’t want today to end,

nothing special, quite ordinary;

I watched the rains

give the world a thorough cleansing,

making music with its pitter-patter,

and puddles here and there.

I don’t want today to end,

but alas it does,

as does everything that blooms,

everything that is born,

everything that rises,

and everything that begins,

for such is the way of life

and of the world.

By Chaitra Ramalingegowda