August
A rain drop still lingers
On the tip of a green leaf
Long after the dark clouds
Have dispersed from the sky;
Like the drop that shimmers
In the corner of your eyes,
Silent, out of season, and beautiful;
March
The first leaf breaks free, quite unnoticed,
Like the first boy back in school
After a particularly long vacation;
Soon the quiet hills will resound
With the cries of those yet to come
The forest that is yet to wake;
December
Steaming tea in hand I watch
The wind blow through the green valley
Singing a tune that must resonate
With the young saplings of oak and Birch:
They sway and flutter fiercely.
They shake and tumble with the wind.
If they were not rooted,
They too would fly.
Diptesh Ghosh