Tree Tales

Love beckons again.

O my clad in white and pink, dame!

I’m back in my blooming hues,

Where the hell are you!

Feels just like yesterday,

Or last spring it was?

You flirted with me from your balcony,

Smiled and made gestures.

That’s how season one,

Of our romance begun!

And then,

One bright sunny morning,

While the sun warmed my contours,

I saw you striding in slow motion,

Heard music in the background,

Or maybe my leaves started ruffling,

As they saw you approach.

How you ran to hug me,

In your pink and white hues,

That matched perfectly with my bloom!

You caressed and you clung,

My pinks got even brighter,

Petals stretched their arms.

Lady you almost turned me on!

Then you waved to a boy,

Perched on that 5th floor gallery.

With a bazooka in his hand,

He aimed it at us,

While I wondered,

Why and what the hell was that?

You posed, you royally pouted.

Good heavens, here I thought,

Are we both being shot at?

I thought I had swept you off your feet,

I loved you to my roots and back.

And we both were all set to be,

Protagonists of an eternal love story,

Ready to die in Bollywood style,

In each other’s arms!

Hell no!

I then realized,

It wasn’t a shoot out scene.

That boy was capturing both of us.

Trying to get a perfect frame.

You hogged all the limelight,

I stood smiling at the back.

This over-stepping of my privacy.

You didn’t even ask.

Not that I objected?

To top it you were even clicking selfies.

I thought you were a woman possessed.

Time it was to part,

You whispered some sweet nothings,

And promised to be back!

You haven’t kept your word.

Feels like a lifetime.

I miss our tete-e-tete.

I’m back in my blooming glory.

Wasn’t Season two supposed to be steamier?

Or that’s what I thought.


You don’t even have a minute to spare,

Leave aside those lovelorn smiles,

Not even a cold glare.

I stare at your mezzanine,

You rarely step on it.

A man now dries clothes in that gallery,

At times he doesn’t even pull the rods back,

Why should I be bothered,

Just that I noticed,

While I was looking for you!

That boy with the bazooka,

Now tends to my friends (plants) in pots,

It’s all getting on my nerves,

These are scenes unseen before!

I do see your silhouette occasionally,

Across the living room casement.

Always in a rush,

Your gait is no more lively,

You appear so lost and lorn.

My ground feels like a shackle

I fear the worst and wonder,

Have those goons trapped you,

Inside your own castle.

Our love gives me strength,

I thrive on hope.

On the other side of the captivity,

We shall meet soon!

My branches you will stroke.

My bloom you will admire.

And of course you will pose!

Till then my buds holds a prayer,

Hope all is well with you!

Hope all is well with you!

This is how I look at the bloom now from my fifth floor gallery and revisit old memories.

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