The Last Season Poem by meera panigrahi

The Last Season

Rating: 5.0

This is the last season
Winds blow without the lilt
of summer song.
The distance ends at no horizon-
all is here and now.

The land of the heart is wet.
Still the subterranean spring hums
the rain songs of yesterdays.

Memory will bring a new season
not of this earth.

Branches are twigs now.
But with a little rain
buds may come.

The last season in a man's life is the most poignant one. The tree is bare. We are waiting by force of habit for new leaves, which after all may not come. We may escape the cycle of seasons and not live to see new buds. Still there is hope that things may turn out differently
Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi 16 September 2012

the last season of a man's life! we may not say definitely it is when? People are more contented at this stage and mostly thrifty, if the buttresses are around, the tree still stand majestic! Beautiful poem!

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Anita Sehgal 12 September 2012

Crisp and short... emotions well brought out, touching... the endless yearning for life!

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Payal Parande 12 September 2012

amazing just amazing what i am feeling after reading this poem is beyond one word....perfect..... you made me speechless its the poets like you mam that keeps me going in writing thinking i'll be like you one day thank you so much for sharing love, payal

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Valsa George 16 September 2012

When hope springs in our hearts, the impossible becomes possible! Who can tell if twigs won't be covered with lush green leaves and blossoming buds, though the cycle of seasons may be over! An enjoyable read!

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Anil Kumar Panda 10 July 2015

as the old gives place to the new a fresh hope is born to face the challenges of life.nice drop.

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Payal Parande 07 November 2012

oh! mam how wonderful..each word of this piece tells the life's hidden secret and how splendid those are amazing just amazing thank you for sharing love payal

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Sumitra Das 26 September 2012

There is no last season where there is hope

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Full Moon 21 September 2012

hits the right buttons. Lovely.

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The wait is unassumably a matter of faith on one side and helplessness on the other. Man is groping in the dark of erratic extremes and where an end is soon to be a beginning too a poet too will rejoice at heart. Thank you madam for writing this beautiful piece.

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