Come, Angels!
Has Heaven not sent you word
Of my final Fate?
How may I tell you!
With the glance of luck,
Many new colours approached
My garden
Alas! Alas! Alas!
In envy of me,
Spring, itself, invited drought
To scorch the face of my paradise.

How may I tell you!
Today, on every side,
I am resourceless of wisdom,
Though by age,
I were to be wise,
And free - but I am not!
I am a captive of grief
Alas! Alas! Alas!
In envy of me,
Spring, itself, devised parchedness,
To seal my future.

Dubai
13th February 2013

Geeta Chhabra