The Dead Hosting Life
P Pradip Chattopadhyay
0
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The barren tree begs no more from the sky,
In its bones dead long is nothing to aspire,
Still in its branches painted gnarled and dry
Are secretly growing life and all its desire!
The winged guests have made it their nest
To procreate and lengthen existence's page,
Playing host to the glorious life's fest
Is becoming alive the barks without foliage!
No leaf will ever again sprout,
The thunder has sucked its blood,
Yet it stands its ground for no doubt
To hold in its breast life in its bud!
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