majestic and huge,
breathes life all through
looks a little pale
when I see him
in the morning.
Why does he look forlorn?
casting his eyes downward
remaining still and sullen
some what a grief,
or a disappointment
runs undercurrent.
Ay! oldie, what is the matter?
I go near him touch his broad
shoulders, hold his hands
with compassion, he shows
no move, Seeing into his eyes.
I decipher a sadness.
The old man who stands
is none other than my
big Neem Tree, my friend
with whom I exchange
ideas, interact, share
both joy and sorrow.
Exhausted and feeling
not alright, withstanding
the continuous downpour
the gigantic tree appears dull
perhaps afflicted by a viral
unknown to his fraternity.
Meenas Poems 