An Ode To Moments Old

An ode to moments old - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - If every day is a chapter And every second is a composer Life might have as many pages as possible But if the page at the budding looks illegible How can I decipher That it’s going to bloom into a flower Or the bud before opening up will wither They were twins, brother and sister Into sixth month happy and safe In their mother’s womb just day before the mishap And the day followed with bright sunshine With no sign of presentiment therein Though showed up a different morning With flowers looking pale and birds singing Dull and dews glistening no more But that was the play of nature Beguiled us into disbelieving the plan Moulded into happening an awful thing by high noon Of April loaded more with autumn than spring That she had to be at pain in the abdomen with a sting And how time slipped off to purple of twilight Could not be sensed with sanity and sight And into evening the day wore on With mist and gloom and we were but to repine For what the doctor opined “That, tiny souls were to come as guests short-lived Premature with half-done shrine to live in And soon they would depart to heaven” It was evening Breathless and motionless we were waiting To hear the soul of happy things to happen Then silence tender yet restless began to reign For the doctor was skeptical of life of a neonate Yet not dismissive if God so wished and blessed such a flowerlet Little angels fair and pink as if gifted from skies Neither wreathed in smiles nor in cries To survive were seen struggling Like the dews of morning Only to be seen evanescing unto heaven In a few moments with sunshine Buds before opening up into flowers lovely Had to lie on a wreath of flowers gravely Oh God! be not unkind to souls little and lovable For they are angels thou art send to make this world beautiful Oh God! make not buds close their days instantaneous For they have not yet blossomed into flowers Yet thou art chose to call them to thy bosom Into the Garden of Eden where they could bloom Inflicting anguish and grief on their mother To impeach at length thee as merciless slayer Oh God! bring back into her garden those little flowers For night is setting in everywhere