Chit-Chat

Butterflies and bees chat along their way,
Flowers left with little honey.
But who is the 'lone gardener,
Who walks along the trodden path?
Picking up what is little left
Of once a blooming garden.

People pass by, every now and then
Talking among themselves of that gardener;
Some pity, some curious , some just notice.

With love and care he nurtured the garden,
It's butterflies and bees, the bloom enjoyed,
Along with them were pruned ,
The silent graves which now beheld-
Happiness, sorrow, disappointment and success
All enfolded into one eternal sleep.

But strange enough, did anybody
With the gardener chat?
Ask him whether he slept alright?
" Mind joining for a cup of tea or something?"
"The summer is pretty this time of the year, ain't it?"

The winds blow and tickle your senses,
While the gardener sits alone
Talking to the epitaph under the Gulmohar's shade.

People pass by, every now and then
Talking among themselves of that 'lone gardener;
Some pity, some curious, some just notice.

She watched him from her window, for years.
Every twilight she saw the gardener alone,
Humming to himself, a yearning chord-
She wondered if she should stop awhile,
Lend a face to share a smile.
For a little chit-chat for the miles?

People pass by, every now and then
Talking among themselves of that 'lone gardener
Some pity, some curious, some just wonder......