The Bard in Me

 

There is an open space, always barren, near my place,

Littered with polythene bags, cans, and plastic glasses,

Scattered across dried, yellowing grass.

 

This season, due to incessant rain, a pool of water began to remain.

The grass turned green, debris afloat, and to my surprise,

Lilies began to bloom and float.

 

Seeds were always there, stirred by rain’s touch,

Now blooming so much.

 

Years ago, as a bride, I sprinkled rice,

Without looking back twice.

I left behind the home and many things,

Where I was born on a vermillion-streaked early morn.

 

Stepping across a new threshold,

Burying many dreams and things as if I had outgrown them.

Busy with new roles, I played my part,

Trying to be good with a silent heart.

 

I watched the world, yet feelings stayed still.

Words scattered like beads within—

To weave them, I was tired, behaving as if I had no will.

 

To turn them into verse, no time to spare,

The poet in me lingered, hidden somewhere.

 

Now, in the afternoon of my life,

Freed from many mundane chores and strife,

I write again.

The muse knocks, and time and the beloved become my rain.

 

For no one can take what’s inherently ours.

With the touch of love, the words, the verses bloom,

Awakened in the right hours.

 

Mousumee Baruah