THE BANYAN TREE

Amidst the hullabaloo of children,
Amidst the noise of the crowd,
At centre of the market in town
Stands an old, bent, curvatured figure.

Standing by itself in solitude,
An example of self esteemed attitude,
It is witness of town's history,
It's none other than the Banyan Tree.

Peeping into its past we see,
Its exuberance in its glee,
When travelers rested under its shade,
Spending hours, all men and maid.

When the birds flocked its branches,
For resting and nesting,
Till the season came around,
The season for the hatching.

So lively it was then,
Surrounded always by attention,
From minutes ants, birds and humans,
An inspiration for the next generation.

The time flew away,
Along with it went adulation,
With the leaves falling of branches,
T'was left with wait and anticipation.

The juice dried down,
The green turned to brown,
The once colossal figure,
Now stooped down, down and down.

Now no bird even sat over,
And no passenger did halt,
The banyan tree stood in despondency,
With every joy around it coming to halt.

Is old age a synonym of loneliness?
Isn't getting older really a curse?
Does it snap the relations?
With nobody around and a million wounds to nurse.

~Aby Baby~

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