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October 16, 1999- India
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Reminiscences of the Oak

See how the apricot vines of strawberries crawl along the mahogany hued in vandyke-brown,
See how the emerald foliage scintillate like radiant jaspers in the daybreak.
See how the euphoric sun eavesdrops from the cadmium clouds beyond our Illusions,

See those carnations with colourations of embers from amethysts lost in antiquity.
T'is the heaven endowed upon the timeless notion of my reflections,
Which unlatched this cage of my heart, set alight by the flames of indignation.
This world has dramatically changed; I can feel it in the wind and the crystal rain.

But nothing has changed about this pinnacle of paragon, as it chants a million symphonies of quintessence.

It was painted in sanguine with tints of amber when I first lay my sight,
Ladybirds with flakes of ivory winging its way; Chestnuts and cherries liberating the aroma of fidelity.

That was this instant when this oak tree became the singularity of all joviality and gratification,
Reinforcing the freedom embedded within the chamber of my soul.

From savouring those flavoursome almond florentines and persimmon crépe under its intimate shadows,
To gaping at the countrymen ambling down the viridescent valleys with chamomiles and blackberries.
This was the sanctuary against the hailstorm, the snow and the abyss of despondency conquering my mind.

Watch the cranberry primroses in a pirouette with the zephyr, and folks on promenades;
Watch the limegrass embraced with dew with yellow-tailed magpies liaising to serenades.
Dangling on the limbs of this enduring timber and sculpting cypress treehouses,
Even if this oak ventures to its silver jubilee, still it remains the same.

Towering it stands, like an imposing edifice cascading through the mist,
It is the embodiment of comeliness, upraising my spirits, as I peruse the antique tomes under the cantaloupe barks.

The lustre of the bristle fronds under the moonlight of credence; nimble rainfall speckling down the fragile blooms,

This oak is unlike any other tree you speculate in the woods, fabricating juvenile memories since 1999.
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