An Ode To Moments Old Poem by DEEPAK KUMAR PATTANAYAK

An ode to moments old
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If every day is a chapter
And every second is a composer
Life might have as many pages as possible
But if the page at the budding looks illegible
How can I decipher
That it’s going to bloom into a flower
Or the bud before opening up will wither
They were twins, brother and sister
Into sixth month happy and safe
In their mother’s womb just day before the mishap
And the day followed with bright sunshine
With no sign of presentiment therein
Though showed up a different morning
With flowers looking pale and birds singing
Dull and dews glistening no more
But that was the play of nature
Beguiled us into disbelieving the plan
Moulded into happening an awful thing by high noon
Of April loaded more with autumn than spring
That she had to be at pain in the abdomen with a sting
And how time slipped off to purple of twilight
Could not be sensed with sanity and sight
And into evening the day wore on
With mist and gloom and we were but to repine
For what the doctor opined
“That, tiny souls were to come as guests short-lived
Premature with half-done shrine to live in
And soon they would depart to heaven”
It was evening
Breathless and motionless we were waiting
To hear the soul of happy things to happen
Then silence tender yet restless began to reign
For the doctor was skeptical of life of a neonate
Yet not dismissive if God so wished and blessed such a flowerlet
Little angels fair and pink as if gifted from skies
Neither wreathed in smiles nor in cries
To survive were seen struggling
Like the dews of morning
Only to be seen evanescing unto heaven
In a few moments with sunshine
Buds before opening up into flowers lovely
Had to lie on a wreath of flowers gravely
Oh God! be not unkind to souls little and lovable
For they are angels thou art send to make this world beautiful
Oh God! make not buds close their days instantaneous
For they have not yet blossomed into flowers
Yet thou art chose to call them to thy bosom
Into the Garden of Eden where they could bloom
Inflicting anguish and grief on their mother
To impeach at length thee as merciless slayer
Oh God! bring back into her garden those little flowers
For night is setting in everywhere