*Dedicated to the long line of Tabebuia Rosea trees along the Eastern Express Highway in Mumbai, that bloom in the Indian Spring.*
Spring: Chaitra
Don’t sit in my head and smile at me
through faux cherry blossoms
(Yes, I know they’re called Tabebuia Rosea; must you be so unromantic?)
Tell me
That the letter I wrote as a sixteen something
still sits tearing at each of the countless folds
in the coin compartment
of your purse
among loose change.
Spent as it is; and yet, of new denomination.
******
Summer: Vaishakh
I watched the faux cherry blossoms fall.
I watched them drop
Tired and hopeless,
their once blushing pink now a pale white.
Like the skin of an anemic old woman
Living alone
In her own memories
Bereft of the comfort of her imagination.
The tender new leaves a disappointing reminder
Of life ahead.