Silent Spring

Silent spring, The spring which is turning silent In the midst of the city squares, Plazas and towered buildings, Intermixed with pollutants, Abnormal and untimely in its Coming and going, Artificial and mechanical As you see The plants blooming in Glasses like test-tube babies. The spring we talk used to be Ravishingly beautiful and exotic With the clusters of nameless Wild blooms hanging by And scattering over the forest tract With a riot in colours, Blooming and dazzling the passers-by, Keeping stunned to pause and see, But the spring we are talking now-a-days Is one of cacti blooming, The lips painted with lipstick And the cheeks rough and unnatural.