The Barren Gulmuhar Tree

I open the door to balcony, a rush of dimmed sun rays touches my face gently, a gush of cool breeze, caresses me tenderly. The gentle breeze, sways the wind chimes, a soft tinkling sound, pervades the air, resonates a melody. I stand before the barren Gulmuhar tree, with its bare branches, sans a trace of green, touches a chord, deep in my heart. A few mynahs and parrots, come flying and, perch on its dry branches, but flew away soon for a greener refuge. The dry, leafless tree, lays bare an unhealed wound, an emptiness, an unfulfilled longing, buried deep inside me. The spring is not far, to adorn the bare tree, with new leaves, crimson flowers, and bring back birds, of all hues to its fold. The advent of spring, a precursor to new life, to trees, meadows, lost brooks, a joie de vivre, will usher in, a heavenly bliss on earth. But, the deep sore, inside me, never be healed. I have lost colours of spring, aeon's back, abandoned and rejected, at the prime, banished to a loveless world, I shall wait endlessly for the spring to come.