My Tree Poem by Priyaranjan Ojha

Beneath a tree pale and grey
I have been waiting,
Waiting it to be dressed
With the vivacity of new leaves.
But I only witness
The shabby leaves of my tree
Touching the ground!
Spring after spring
Comes and goes,
But my tree remains out of luck!
My neighbours boast
Of their wide gardens,
With abundance of greenery and colour.
Here I persuade myself
Only in vain dreams and hope!
I know not
What sinister force works,
To sterile the tree,
To make me hopeless.
Now I grasp what the breeze murmurs;
Perhaps it says -
Implant a new and call it My Tree!