‘Spring is the mischief in me’

‘Spring is the mischief in me’- thawing the icicles within, into brooklets of fun,

That flow in short spurts- but last long enough to sprout an idea or two.

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‘Spring is the mischief in me’- the bubbling fluid zigzags often turn into ‘anything-buds’;

Bunches of ‘anything buds’- which can be, well, anything they want to be.

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‘Spring is the mischief in me’- these close fisted beauties pout their taut lips,

Teasing my thoughts out of the quicksand of predictable routine.

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‘Spring is the mischief in me’-they say, adding ‘we can be anything; you can be anything   Brooklet, bud, and a baby green leaf at the edge of a dry woody bark.

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That ‘Spring is the mischief in me’ is the word that has got around it seems;

And now they all know, else why would there be a conspiracy of colours…

                   on the canvas of my winter-born heart?

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‘Make mischief,’ they say- ‘Be Spring; be the Mischief; make Trouble.

Trouble the palpitating fears that bring you to your knees,

Trouble the automaton routine that builds electric fences around your dreams,

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Let there be Trouble… and then?

Feel the wind in your breath,

Smell the colour in the season,

Taste the feelings of your soul,

See the brilliance of you!’

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Spring is the mischief in me, I believe;

And if there is anarchy in the kingdom of monotony tonight,

I shall blame the moon for this madness,And chuckle to show how Spring has worked its mischief in me.

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all pictures have been taken by me- i owe the refrain to Robert Frost only- the rest is mine 🙂

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About preetiroychoudhury

Educator, writer, thinker, dreamer, mind traveller, a moderate feminist, a staunch humanist, eternal learner- i wear many hats and each hat has a voice that demands to be heard- so here i am blogging a bit of me in every post.
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