There Is No Reason Poem by Shivangi Mariam

there is no reason
this sorrow season
for a brown pastel to slip
upon the smouldering evening lip
and to trace- like blind men-
the unfinished tree again:
it always begins with a flower
which is brown and cowers
into a limp twig,
a branch, then digs
hungrily for roots-
the pending disputes
but the brown pastel stops
in the middle of flaky sobs
and refuses always the malady
of the unrelenting tragedy
that persists as a proud trunk
that knows not death, too drunk
on wounds that became winds,
and claimed lives and skinned
fruits to seeds to ground
the colour knows blood drowned
in the truth that runs the world
it is coward, the colour, hurls
no brown, not even the evening blue
which shade can best death construe?
there is no reason
despite the season
the brown pastel slips
(like evening)
measuring life lip to lip
and grates itself to become
the leaves that hum
the unforgiving autumn
of a tree, a shame and a home
still unfinished.