The Ruins of My Memories

A small village surrounded by Oak and Pine woods where a weird poet was borne in my soul I remember when I wrote my first poem in the shade of mango tree early morning a musical environment around cuckoo would create with its melodious voice but now no mango tree-no cuckoo shambles of my poetic remembrances only a small local river flowing down the village on the bank of which I would be delighted to see the fishes swimming in the river and behold the village children making homes on the sand dunes now no water in the river and no fish swimming in but now only the remains of my poetic reminiscences cry n the sand dunes I remember a big rock up the hill sitting above which I used to write poems on beauty of Pine and Oak but now this dense forest appears to be a dry forest only the ruins of my poetic memories wander around and express discontent and sorrow over cutting of Pine and Oak trees (By Kishan Negi)