Under the Barren Tree

Credit: Ratna Pochiraju

In an old tee and track that smelled of mothballs

She sat under the barren tree

When scattered thoughts refused to obey

She sat under the barren tree

Questions bizarre flooded her mind

She sat under the barren tree

Beside the puddle, reflecting their sad life

She sat under the barren tree

Musing if it was the season of late rains or early autumn

She sat under the barren tree

Wondering if the old tree would live through

She sat under the barren tree

Thinking if the shade would be missed or the fragrance

She sat under the barren tree

Pondering if the distant blur was indeed purple

She sat under the barren tree

As the colors of Nature watched her mood

She sat under the barren tree

Her heart whispering aloud the pent up agony

She sat under the barren tree

Was it really a curse to be barren; no one seemed to answer

She sat under the barren tree

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Note: The poem is written in Chant style, a favorite of mine. 

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