Those gleaming, silvery crystals set
the heart aflutter, tongue yearning
for a drop to whet its taste buds.
They hold our breath on a leash, in fact.
In autumn, fallen leaves look dismal,
starched and are to be blown away.
Spring glides in with a caressing wing
To spray fresh seeds, keeps us in thrall.
As April sets tongue into a spin
evanescent crystals keep it moist.
Seasons too pass into the void
but Life beats in a murmuring glen.
It’s beside a copious, swirling river
a humane culture does vibrate.
On its fecund bosom a mélange of
green cradles a protective cover.
If asphalt invades every nook and alley
evil breath scorching out all green
to the call of money, power and what not,
the plaintive cry is of the waterless lily.
Those crystals are the lifeline of soul.
If lost, it’s too late to cry foul.