The glorious four seasons | Sunday Observer

The glorious four seasons

17 January, 2021

The score of Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons have been heard on dozens of movies and hundreds of times in concert halls and continue to hold the record of sales in classical genre and has retained programmatic material, each movement better than the other. Some say he had composed the same concerto over 500 times.

These are the thoughts that come to my mind when I think about the four seasons.


Greener than our eyes behold,
Radiant colour on abstract design.
Spring is raising her gleaming glow
As sweeping winds whistle loud.
Buds of Spring gently spread the meadow
In a sheet of golden hue,
Awaiting the sun to open and spread the rays.
In the woods, the giant sentils,
Spread their bowers,
Conceal the patches of rays.
Dangling vine; ambience in the woods,
An oasis of nature’s creation.
And the myriad elements of greenery
Warming in sun’s sparking rays.
Like the fabric of poetry,
As many are relics of dying trees,
That Spring fails to revive


Blowing in the screaming wind
in Autumn’s silvery wrap.
Among the glorious fallen leaves
Of red and gold, in the valleys
Lest in splendour, when the seasons begin
As fading Autumn chills the drooping plants
Feeling the freezing pinch.
Hear the bleat of the gentle lamb
As warm up in mother’s fold
Trekking softly behind her
On footsteps left behind.
And far away among clustered shrubs,
Morning sun splash his rays.
Waking up the sleepy birds,
Stirring in their cosy nests.
Autumn has arrived.


Bindu jumps for joy, come Summer
Tho’ he is no more, my four-legged bundle of joy
Splashing in the drizzles and falling dew.
He smells all fragrances in beautiful flowers
Tossing his head, flapping his ears, loved me to the end
His spirit lives beneath the trees, among the bowers
But mostly in my heart.
I see him among the golden daffodils
And up and down along the rainbow
From starting point to wide, wide space
Bindu and summer back to back in love
His love was creative to infinity
That’s what Bindu was, and still remain.
Bindu watched luminous leaves flying to reach the sky
Only to be blown and lose their way.
On and oft I hear his moan yelp
Tracking on footsteps I left behind,
And see his gentle roving eyes upon me.
This is what every summer in every year, means to me.
There will never be a summer without my Bindu
Nor Bindu without a summer.


Hark, hark the frosty winter wrapped in snow
sweeps on all garbs of shining white.
Gems and crystal upon treetops dazzle and sing
Jesus is born on a Winter night.
Everywhere, the angels sing at midnight
While flakes of snow keep drifting by.
As the rain snow come down from heaven
Watering the earth to soak
Walking in the gentle, soft snow,
Feel the fresh air, crisp and sharp.
Make soft muffled sound of winter
And the snow falls heavy on the fields
For mountain tops to refill.
Some melt in the streams and yonder rivers,
And flow back to the mighty ocean.