In the bright new day,
Down the steep embankments,
I saw a tiny stream leaving its mark.
A bush laden with rising flowers,
Nurtured colours of moving gems.
The relay was inseparable
From the melancholy within me.
In the bright new day,
I was shaping inner images
Of complete detachment.

My story did not match the bright new day.

Coonoor
1st May 2011

Geeta Chhabra