Trees, A School Of Life - I Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

Seeing from close—from my top-floor terrace—
Swaying in joy, embracing nearby trees,
Her grey leaves falling off from its green face,
With every gentle burst of monsoon breeze,
The pale waiting to fall in resigned ease,
I wonder if trees know that life's on lease—
Look at their endless patience, rain or sun,
Forever bowing to the will of Nature,
In tune with time and mood of whatso season,
Kadamb1 triumphant stood with its tall stature;
Admiring from a far, and somewhat cool,
I've stood for long a pupil of its school.

Something peculiar there's of monsoon rains,
That, strange things do to me, to trees alike;
Though elixir of life, it's not just water
That roots can draw from soil, and leaves from air,
Wonder, how rains bring life to all the greens.
Whilst watering I often see them smile,
And worry still of too much of largesse,
I've seen potted plants dying a wet death,
Yet, I see weeds growing on sheer self-will,
Rains seem to stretch green smiles an extra mile;
Trees alone can take rains in willing stride,
And none the worse for Nature's largesse seem.

And soon enough do I see what rains do:
Kadamb1 has come to spell its monsoon spell,
Under many a green leaf hangs a fruit
Growing, many still far too small to see,
Some ahead of the race, showing off plume,
A yellowish orange coat of young buds,
Like furs of a tennis ball, blossoming
All around the fruit's glistening surface;
There follows soon a swarm of honey bees,
Variety of sprightly butterflies too,
Feasting in spell in undisturbed ease,
And ah a feast to my eager old eyes!

The orange furs ripen soon to acquire
A darkling brown shade to fall on the ground
Below, in a smooth bed-spread all around,
Much like some flowers that fall overnight,
But fallen buds have no heady fragrance,
And die as buds ere blossoming to smile.
The bald fruit, a smallish tennis ball now,
Ripening to attract Simian brigades;
I've often spied fetching fruits from the trees,
What a joy still, plucking them from branches!
And I feel tempted to try it one day,
If monkeys can, I wonder why not man.
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Kadamba1: Encephellous Kadambus, the trees are of two main varieties found in India, one native, the other a close cousin. Set largely in blank verse in iambic penta-metre. But as the narrative part of the poem becomes reflective, as in the first and the last two stanzas, the lines acquire rhymes and no more are blank.
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Reflections | 04.09.12 |
Topic: tree, life, school