From a large tree to a bench,
In infinite memoirs I wrench.
Ghastly winds and heavy rains,
Sunny days and warm smiles
all seen time and again.
The genial exuberance echoes elegance,
Nothingness is never in vain,
With typified modesty, my poise I retain.
Sharing each happiness sorrow and grief,
sometimes loneliness in brief,
Peace of mind and quietness then creeps.
Clouds edged with pink and gold,
through sunrise and sunsets many a stories unfold,
As many as I befriend, there is a brief encounter and then the end.
I stay my ground,
Left with a vast emptiness but hope profound,
I wait for the next company around.
© Mrunalini.D.Nimbalkar
Sometimes I feel and imagine that a non living thing like a bench or chair has many a stories to tell...only if it had a voice! !
The lifeless piece of furniture becomes a treasure chest of memories. Abstract thinking
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem