Life is fragile, beckoned with atrocities,
Pains and the facade of these madding-crowds,
Pains so painful as though the hawk trying hard
To come through the clutches of metals,
The disguise of men and women behind
The artificiality to cover the reality,
Such is the world that I live in.
In the midst of all these, there came
A season, unknown to anyone.
Never being touched, felt,
Heard or mentioned by anyone,
Where the streets went wider,
The smiles went bigger and the reality seemed unreal.
Nothing seemed painful, there wasn’t any withering,
But felt I, the presence of ‘April’, the cool breeze,
Along with its sweet scent, nourishing my pale life.
The brown ground seemed fresh,
And I heard the laughter of the innocent.
Heart then became lighter with joy.
Alas! I knew that it had to end.
I knew that I will be shaken
And will be brought back to this wretched reality.
But I also knew then that I’ve made something imperishable
Which will live on in my memories
And I call it a “Stolen Season”
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