Neither we are born

nor do we perish into oblivion.

As a gardener

of the vineyard boundless, which flourish as our children,

we come here to nurture

the flow of the grapevine

tender,

to guide and support

the sudden twists and adorable twirls

of the wayward creepers

that softly turn from scarlet to green.

Time blooms from budding moments to hours,

down the fingers emptiness drips,

days flow out of grip.

The grapevines bear sun's glaze

in its proud fruitfulness

and glow with the moist haze of the sliding days-

shimmering with the touch of purposeless amaze.

Grapes like age mature

from tender to pure,

glowing in careless glimmer,-

prepared to be burst, thrashed, smashed,

then its flowing taste

to be collected, strained

and matured

until treasured as wine

in the dark cask of time,

developing a taste for

absolute pleasure, sublime.

By Kakoli Ghosh

From: India

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