If You Cut a Tree; You Cut Your Own Mother – Poems on Environment , Wildlife , Mother Nature , Global Warming by Nikhil Parekh - HTML preview

47. THE NIGHT WAS STILL ALIVE 

The butter was still fresh; with adorable crusts of

cream oozing poignantly from its molten persona,

The rose was still blossoming; with its ravishing

redolence reinvigorating everything around in dull

atmosphere,

The stream was still gushing at electric speeds; with

its gurgling waters diffusing into spell binding froth

after clashing against the chain of ecstatic rocks,

The peacock was still dancing; with its feathers

spread wildly wide to a completely full and exotically

animated plumage,

The grass blades were still awake; with glistening dew

drops now enigmatically caressing their intricate

visage,

The stars still twinkled in the sky; with the

magnificent white beams of light casting a majestic

spell on the body of pathetically scorched earth,

The leaves still vibrantly rustled with the wind;

inscrutably whispering their nostalgic tales of day;

their stupendously enamoring anecdotes of the past,

The lion still roared euphorically; puncturing the

sedate ambience with an uncanny thrill that was never

experienced before,

The nightingale still sang its melodious rhymes;

captivating every tangible and intangible entity with

the fascinating melody in its sound,

The clouds still collided in the sky; pelting droplets

of rejuvenating rain in tumultuous fury,

The ducks still floated in the serene pond; fomenting

blissful ripples to spread infectiously around;

profoundly enlightening the night with their flurry of

boisterous quacks,

The chameleon still fluttered its ominous tail;

tantalizingly changing color; splendidly blending with

the surrounding it went,

The mammoth stacks of green chili were still flaming;

violently embodying the area around with a distinctly

piquant odor; a scent that could bring life into the

dead,

The Moon still shone a tenacious white; with its

creamy rays filtering a path through the stringently

dolorous darkness,

The chill still lingered pertinently; perpetuating

infinite goose-bumps to inevitably creep up the body,

The horde of impeccable rabbits still frolicked in

their burrows; playing hide and seek with the drifting

clouds and shine,

The preposterously fat python still slithered through

the marshes; furtively awaiting to gobble its prey; in

the clandestine darkness concealing his belly,

The spider still spun its web; running at astounding

speeds from one end to the other; producing

marvelously shimmering silk with its slime,

C'mon let's enjoy ourselves to the fullest O! beloved;

bask in the aisles of uninhibited desire and romance;

for the night was still young; the darkness had set

blazing fire to our senses; the night was still alive.