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“birds care not for whom they sing” - Silent One
 
The Gemini Garden stays close to mountain springs.
In this magic garden, countless flowers bloom and wither,
With pruned trees, shrubs and sprawling lawns,
And beds of geraniums in flaming red, pink and white.

On either side of the gravel path are daisies and buttercups.
Though weeds, the dandelions with bright yellow flowers
And anemones of varying hues add to the beauty of the garden.
Petunias of maroon, white and pink spread an exquisite quilt of art.

Here and there stand rose bushes proudly parading,
Clusters of sweet- smelling roses of all shades and size.
Gemini Garden is a kaleidoscope of blossoming flowers,
Attended by swarms of bees and flamboyant butterflies.

Bees hum a resonant orchestral murmur,
Punctuated by the endless twittering of birds.
Sparrows and robins dive and dart singing and soaring
They care not for whom they incessantly sing.

At the center stands a tree, a leafy bower.
From far it looks like an imposing green tower.
In the covert of its dark foliage, has perched a lone lark.
It sings in sad plaintive notes, unloading its heart.

The sequestered Gemini Garden, he has made his abode
Crooning all day long, stirring dormant memories
Is he trilling in notes so plaintive of his missing mate?
Unleashing his heart of its doleful weight?
	
Or easing the pangs of a heart that starves
For a soulmate yet to come for whom he craves?
Or sending a missive through the aerial route,
To his sweet love, hardly discernible to the outside world?

The deep sighs from him come out as a haunting song
Echoing in the silence a symphony of wistful memories
As birds sing for no one in particular, he too sings,
Not for any selected audience, but to release his thoughts.

No nightingale can come close to his melodious tones.
It resonates of a bond that must have once thrived in his heart.
I assume his aching heart still longs for the bond to be renewed,
And he dreams of a time when both shall be reunited in bliss.

From far his song percolates down, silent as a murmur
Through the sinews of my heart it permeates,
Striking a chord between two souls equally deprived,
Stirring in me an inarticulate ache, never once divulged.

Sometimes he relapses into a kind of moody silence,
With all his restless passions hushed down,
Making himself an exile from all hustle and bustle,
But remaining in umpteen hearts as a forceful presence!
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