An Evening with Her

Last evening
As I waited there
without a notebook or a book
Or a pipette or a steering wheel
I was hugged warmly by her,
the chilly air of the December

I looked around and saw
A tree without leaves
Standing there like a yogi on one leg
The streak of sunshine
Trying very intensely
To warm up its desolate branches

I looked at them again and again
As if I have never seen a branch before
Dark, scaly and dry
Like my grand mother's last days
Can not move
Can not express what she wants
Can not do any thing on her own
Just waiting for the passage
To the spring of eternity.

These seemingly lifeless
But pregnant branches hibernate
To rejoice again the warm air of the spring
to be studded with flowers again
Like my grandmother did.