Ode to Spring

Spring, at present where're you staying and
emitting the fragrance of youth and rejuvenated life?
Spring, you're living thousand light years away
from us, but you come at His behest to our
planet to soothe our hearts with sweet songs of
life. You come in silent steps and rejuvenate the
dead cells of life, all become lively and lovely
overnight, the withered branches of trees, leafless

and sapless be embellished with new foliage and
toss their heads in gentle breeze. All lethargy
goes out with the exit of winter, Spring brings
new lease of life, spirit and energy, bid farewell
to shaky life. Emaciated and gangling souls rise
with a new hope of life. Flowers blossom, birds
sing and the humming bees fly from one flower
to another with blithe heart. Butterflies of variegated

colors fly from one blooming buds to another one;
the atmosphere seems to be exotic and rhythmic.
The meadows, fields and pastures of Bangladesh
smile in unending joy, as if all sorrows and pain
have taken farewell from them forever.
Severity of chill is dimming day by day and
will soon go to Hades for eternal rest. Banyan
trees and its yards so long looked sullen and

haunted have now revived with new life at
the throng of the shepherds and passersby;
the shepherds 're playing on flutes with
heart plundering songs to bemuse the village younkers
and the blooming wenches. Weary passersby
hark the sweet pastoral songs of the cowherds
intently and be exalted to leave the place for
their sweet hearts. The cattle graze joyfully

and roam carelessly in the pastures, some reckless
particularly the oxen raise thir tails high in the
air and run helter-skelter as if they have been
freed from fetters. The rams bleat, the cows low
and the sports of gaggle in the water of the haor
make the nature spell-bound; all are crazy
now; beautiful wenches and striplings
sing the songs of their hearts and express

All the unspoken words and latent thoughts
Imbrued with love and romance. The harts and
the rutting bucks run after the hind or doe being
love-sick.

The young women in heyday go to the
landing stairs of a river and create humour
with their friends and make funs with the hearts
of their hearts; even at this moment they
embrace their minions, and look aslant, feel empathy.

An unprecedented thrill rouses in the love-soaked
hearts, the divine love encumber them out and out.
Light banter or drollery goes on with each other
and ogling and squinting remains in height.
Crimson-colour Palash and Shimul have bloomed
in the yards of the rich and in the Hurst
of the lovers of flowers. The children have been
picking up the blood-red flowers and putting

Those in the lap of their loincloths. The joy of
the younkers and striplings knows no bounds.
They're also flying kites in gentle breeze of
the spring, seeing this ecstasy of delight and
amorous scene, the fairies in heaven giggle squinting
at their love-lords. In moonlit night, the fairies and
the angels come down in the clear water of the
lake or haor to bathe and enjoy all beautiful  

sights of the earth with heart's content; their splash
in the lake, the people living yonder hear with
awe and romance- the grey hairs realize. The
sports of spring rejuvenate us and we feel
it in jocund mood, but not as an everlasting one.
Spring, you come with a jovial face, but
depart with a sullen heart; we don't want
to see you morose and morbid, we long to

see you spree and blithe. Spring, stay here
with divine lustre and enthuse the wretched
hearts with ethereal ardour and delight.
Oh nightingale, oh cuckoo sing in chorus and
remove the heartache of the people of this planet.
Oh Philomel I've heard your songs for
long eighty two springs, but never have seen
the divine things to share with me, the same ens and ethos.

Spring, don't hoodwink us, remain with us
eschewing all hocus-pocus, ethereal illusion.
We, all 're the off springs of God's fancy and imagery.

Zazabor Osman is a Poet and novelist