Past is forgotten, present is forgiven.
Memories get aged, get ignored,
Dreams are born, get matured
And with every season new,
A magic is unveiled.
For the lengthier days,
I wait for the winter to pass by,
Never but dislike the non-harsh coldness.
I enjoy the yellow and mellow,
But not the dry browns.
And then, the clouds come down,
To bring in a soothing green.
When the soil is muddy and at times, awash,
Vanishes the tough and noisy monsoon,
Blessing with a lovely spring,
And it’s then I smile full-hearted.
(Like anything plantlike in Kerala.)
:) :) :)
Image Credits: Picjumbo