Palmyra
Abaninadranath Tagore (সাথী)

At a stretch of wilderness there stood one Palmyra tree. In that never-ending horizon that Palmyra grew alone, it had no friend. There was a jungle of fan-palm trees at distance, where many Palmyras stood side by side, hugging each other, perhaps being friends forever. But the jungle was far away from our Palmyra, and it looked sap-green from there where this Palmyra stood.
At night the Palmyra could see countless stars, blinking on the vast dome above—twinkling and coaxing in light-hearted banter. Sometimes the light breeze hugged the lonely Palmyra, showered it with the fragrance of sweet flowers that it had carried, but it was not very often, rather rarely, only when it was spring time. In other seasons, the storm came, rain arrived riding deep ash-grey clouds, there struck the lightening near to that never-ending horizon. The Palmyra kept watching all these. Then Fall sneaked…



