Parable

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Altaf Khaliq Wani

Pregnant tree near my lodge

Whom I care, chill to till

Shyly foliage sprout as guard

Nod to posy, come for fruit

Baby fruits welcome by sleet

Tried to vise like grip with bough

But the blowzy weather with gale

Shake and bob, unlucky fruit

Before ripe, tumble on dune

Immature pips, conceal for doom

With heart burn, retrace with sob

Inculcate, parable and transcend

Perhaps sleepy vale is forlorn

Invite wrath of Almighty God

But the callousness still found

Among myriad with full conceit.

(Author dwells in Gudoora Pulwama)

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