A sapling, she and I together
grew,
pouring as much affection,
and nourishing with as much
caress,
but on a forbidden soil,
under a cloudy sky,
with no one to know,
but, alas, only for a
short-while,
after which we had to part,
abandoning the sapling to the
fate,
we ourselves in unending
pang.
Whose fault is it to grow
a perennial for a short while,
that would never yield
anywhere?
Or is it like one who smokes
with
pleasure, knowing it a harm
to health?
Or have we to be content with
a passing cloud pouring rain?
No, let us keep it in a
herbarium
as a memento for our emporium
when we part the company
rather than desert it in
agony.
05.04099, Palakkad.
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