Spring’s child

Spring’s child short poem

A child who was more of the trees,

Than of any man I knew,

Whose laughter tinkled in the breeze,

And mingled in the dew.

Oft In the speckled summer shade,

Pleasant dark and divine,

In the beauteous forest glade,

I saw the child recline.

And when the bees sang over the flowers

I heard a moving song,

Till the sky was littered with stars,

And the night strummed along.

I heard the rustle of brown leaves,

Beneath tiny fleeting feet,

Where the mount to a valley cleaves,

And the sky and earth meet.

The child would wade into lotus ponds,

Behold the joy of play,

Of transient yet immortal bonds,

Like foot steps upon clay.

And then the leaves began to shed,

The trees began to die,

My heart was shattered and bled,

For I heard the child cry.

Each passing second was a year.

The winter months crept by,

And as the frigid end came near,

I was filled with joy.

The spring burst forth in beauty,

And little buds were born,

The world was fleet green and dainty,

But the child, was gone!

Oh when spring was most vibrant,

Spring’s gleeful child was lost,

So did the poison time ferment,

The child was born to frost.

A sad voice haunts the forest glades,

Giggles ring in the sky,

Toddling steps sound on the blades,

Oh moving me to cry…

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Jay Krishnan

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Always wide eyed with wonder, prone to reveries and restless with an inexplicable yearning to create ever since he was a little boy, Jay wrote his first poem when he was six. He discovered the ore of his creative endeavors in the writings of his sister from which everything else originated, in attics filled with vanilla smelling old books, in savoring the classics and in intricate poems of Wordsworth and William Blake inlaid with rhyme…. His poems have snuck under editorial radars and appeared in global anthologies, magazines, newspapers and online journals. He also runs an idea shop called the Centre of Gravity, draws cartoons, directs animated short films and conceptualizes communication campaigns. All of which originate from the same artery of poetic longing that destiny charmed into his soul.
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Editorial Board

A lump in the throat is what this poem brings to the reader, as always the play of words and the imagery is beautiful; one is almost transported to that garden to see that child at play. Great work Jay!

Jayshree Murali

what next what next as every line unfurled…. where is the llitle one now Jay ? this one needs a part two for sure… super Jay !

Geetha Paniker

Beautifully written. Quite touching too.


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