The Orchard

The orchard seems to be frozen in time

Unripe fruits still have the sour taste

Many seasons have visited this place

None had inspired the orchard to yield

Sweet fruits, as promised by the seeds

Green hues transforming to pale yellow

Roots are uninspired to grow any further

Tufts of fallen grace lay scattered

Abandoned houses of dwellers remind of the dreams

Each, in a contemplative and meditative state

As silence echoes through the passages 

Bereft of love and the nurturing hands

Soon the branches will go bald and barren

Greedy thoughts and the sinful tongue

Transformed this orchard to an abandoned land

No more sweet fruits or juices of love

Nature bears a weary look from the travails

Green landscape will be forsaken by the sun and wind

Bountiful orchard will be wiped away from memories©