Honeydew Spring by Smita Sriwastav

geriatric spring,
creeps slowly along
sinuous alleys,
of forgotten’s mist-

bleached
of hazel naiveté,
and juvenile aura
of dew-kissed,
curled velvet of
auxiliary buds:

dappled hurriedly
by evaporating,
incessant moments,
in fleeting kiss
of honeydew’s hue;

-lingering as alms
of transient daydreams;

her redolent yawn,
like sighs of
withered wisteria,
on damp soil
-polka-dotted in
murky puddles;

her once radiant colors,
reminiscent of
evanescent dew’s
meager shades;
splashed pastels
of a child graphiti,
erased by firm hands
of governess fate;

as olive of maturity
seen on foliage,

of sturdy oaks, pious banyan,
mango orchards,bamboo groves,
aromatic tea leaves,
still waters of lotus’ havens;

engulfs a once carefree life,
wiping away all
exotic oneiroi, mirages,

to instill deep within,
inherent sincerity of crops-
faithfully fulfilling
promise of rich harvest.

as through oriels
of tomorrow,
at fringe of horizons,
peep shades of
wrinkled autumn,
also reflected within,
tangerine glint of irises
of intuition…

 

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