Who has planted this mood
upon me?

The reed is silent,
closed up in grief.

The rosy hue of the rose
is no more.

The tulip-bed has no face to show,
for it is barren.

The trees of shade are bleak,
within the girdle of extinction.

The veering moon is a watcher
Of my tumultuous fate.

The sun is a mass of fire,
waiting to see my end.

The blue light in the sky,
appears black to me.

From the alchemy of life,
how should I be?

Dubai
29th April 2013

Geeta Chhabra