Manju Kachuli
A scenario of landscape
With the line of smile in discretion
The fallen leaves dry out, become humus—
Input to the poplar roots; again a new creation
A concrete trunk, upon it
Abstract leaves sprout owing words
As smooth as the petals of hands
Like machinery output in industrial towns
Dashes of the fan’s breeze,
Bitter typhoon of the chimney fumes
The trunk breathes to its bark before spring
Unseen leaves in the branches, in water, waltz
A visual world in a new born leaf, in void
An abstraction a delusion
Smoothly wiped out
By brain waves in compassion
A divided stump in convalescence
Mooted by manure and water
In coalition, we will see the genuine leaves
When the season comes!