Of a bud to bloom

Will you miss me
Asked the old bird
In a cage
Of a conscience baked under dry sun
Will you miss me
Asked a butterfly
Humming
Hovering the flowers
About to wither and dry
But with so much to do
Wrapped shirt with fallen buttons
Uncreased kurtas with torn
Pockets
May be with a purpose
Losing purse
Will lighten my load
Of possessions I don’t need
And want to free my soul
But the communion
Of a creeper
Around an old trunk
Can rejuvenate the desire
Of a bud to bloom
Barked tree
Punctured leaves
Foggy walk
You say
It’s a circular path