An Evening of Conjectures.

The best cure for a writer's block - a note pad, a pen and Lodhi Gradens. :)

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What is it that brings them here,
This city garden, lover's lair?

Is it the golden greenness of the sunshine,

The sway of the trees in pre-shower squall?

Is it the trailing paved pathways

Where they stride with hurried steps,

To heat their blood

And cool their temperament.

Is it the shrill screeching of chipmunks,

Reprimanding you for trespassing

Their earth and skies, like you did them,

On your roads and rooftops.

Is it the slight opportunities

Of reservedly declaring your love

Lying next to each other on cool, cushy, sod

Fingers carelessly intertwined?

Or maybe the convenience of resting your head

Against his chest, seated on a tawdry green bench

Listening to nature’s teeming noises

Against the rhythmic backdrop of consistent heartbeat?

Or did you, like me,
Come here to clear your head

Of the nitpicks and cluck-clacks,
The humdrum and why-what-wheres?

Did you too wish
To leave behind, bricks and mortar
That remind you of the morbidity

Of skyscraper ambitions?

Did you, like me, weighed down by the sheer

Multitude of choices, each claiming a happy-ending

Drift here; for once letting your feet
Make their way instinctively, without your head leading.

Did you, like me, crave to be present among

Wild berries fallen in a merry rot,

A gifted feast to the odd, fidgety squirrel,

Reminding you of a once familiar smell.

That of your childhood backyard –

Of damp earth and berriness and decay and tree sap –

Educating you that life has pace

And that there is no return to those days of easy volition and simple joys.