A country that laments the absence of winter can hardly enjoy the essence of spring. It is late January and the mind invariably returns to days marked by festivities welcoming spring .....the turbid waters of Ganges (heralding seasons of green fields and yellow flowers) swollen with the fragrance of ecstasy..... I am at a loss ..... complete loss .....

the doggerel verses languor
yearning for a form nay
in seasons of spring
even the fritinancy of cricket
yearns for monsoon's frills ...

The hot afternoons gather dust here and I am again taken back in my times where spring would tease the knots of winter slowly .. somewhat steadfastly animating the colours of violet on a wide screen for small mortals like me to gauge and gaze and appreciate.

Sighs! the appreciation is only in memories, memories that has tangled itself with the soil of my skin. I look out at the virile sky who looks madly and deeply in love with the moon tonight with curious onlookers waiting expectantly for them to make their next move and as time continues its enfleshed dreams I see no movement ...... no movement yet again tonight ..... making me wonder what happened to their love stories .... the eternal love stories … there I see desires but desires that are not sought and I look again … this time blankly at the solitary smiling moon … remembering …. just plain remembering ....

give me another moon to last
the moon I saw the other night
of white muslin floating over
memories patterned in black & white
whose dainty feet above slender grounds
whose sandals encased in wimple strides
whose silence draped in charnel nights
whose colours rain radiantly bright ---
whose colours rain radiantly bright!!