Trees are not swinging today.
Leaves are fast asleep
Like infants cocooning in a pair of soft arms
To keep them from weeping
Some bright coloured charms
Which ring-like cathedral bells
Only softer,
Like water flows in a quiet afternoon
A fluttering tied red balloon.
The clock is going to strike seven.
Clouds as if were cotton balls
In shades of white orange blue and grey
Bundles of water stroll like
Old men who say
“Oh, what a lovely day”.
After a life of perils
Finally, a moment to be gay.
Below the clouds is so much green
If I sat on a cloud
ground could not be seen.
In some peaceful alienation
I stroll like a lonely moonbeam.
Wildflowers are proud today
And yet hide between grass blades.
The wind kisses against
My neck, some inherent pain
Slowly fades away.
Branches brush against me
Like people at a railway station.
Leaves of grass stick to my feet
In a reckless fashion.
I lift my head - this moment
Is a stable whirlpool.
I widen my arms and wind
Embraces my torso
I shut my eyes in a
Kind unrest.
The clock strikes seven.
Sun is bidding goodbye
I hope to meet him tomorrow.
The leaves dance
With no coherence, no break.
The sun is fast asleep,
And all the trees are wide awake.
About the poet:
Ritika is a Literature graduate and she's really bad at crossing roads.
Her favourite authors are many, but a few to name would be Iris Murdoch, Mihail Sebastian, Sylvia Plath, Emil Cioran, William Seabrook. She likes to scourge cinema and literally devours films like anything. The charm of her life is literature. It is all she believes and practices. You can find her on IG @ritika.gandhir_
About the artist:
Alaka Ravi is an independent artist exploring new media through landscapes and portraits. You can find her on Instagram @epi.graphic