TABEBUIA

Poetry 1 Minute 
Once in a year it is in the mood
to sing with Sinatra
‘Half a love never appealed to me'.
At other times it sits behind
and hears others sing. 

Look, there are no leaves
It is only flowers and flowers.
For the sake of art
Van Gogh for days
ditches mind and food.

Do not call it a narcissist
Let its presence blow its own trumpet.
Let it cry with every ounce of breath
or, laugh with every inch of skin.
Like a child gone crazy. 

When the days of glory are over
it would be childish
not to go into oblivion,
not to be the back bencher
and exist as if not existing.

PS: Tabebuia or the Trumpet tree is flowerless for most part of the year. However when it flowers for one or two months in a year, what a spectacle it is.

I have a special fascination for tabebuias. A poetic tribute from my side was long due.

Published by Durga Prasad Dash

Published

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