Spring

I have trudged past the deliberate cold,
now to venture into kingdoms of gold
and purchase floral prints that our Heavenly Father reluctantly sold.
and yet when I see the ashes from that bygone era portrayed as nothing but dust
about to be swept away to give way
for the next great inspiration,
it acts as reminder for this veteran peacemaker who loves his books of history and candid Polaroids of the world he found love in, that he loves the heat and its absence, not this transition between
‘what was’ and ‘will be’.
you see someone who craves for a temporal connection that beats everything new black and blue.
I see myself afraid of the cuts on my heart
getting renewed all over again.

I have often wondered what will happen if autumn took back its leaves,
if our hands went back into our sleeves,
if everything I have ever loved, leaves.
I guess there is something brave about beginnings
because when you cut down a tree
and rid it of all its leaves,
it cracks open its skin and grows into its scars.
it grows out of the earth and grows into the ground.
it holds flowers in its lips and rattles foundations in the underground.

I have seldom witnessed the pleasure in growth,
the presence of feelings still dormant and scattered all over.
forget a new beginning,
for all that matters now is a safer ending
from all the madness about to occur
with the rebirth of souls who ought to suffer.
rather let us watch time lapses of everything nice
grow old, feel young, and still exist
while venturing into a paradise on halt.

Spring reminds me of the midnight flight home from Chernobyl,
the rolls royce engines tearing through the winter,
the way my mother wheezes in the morning
how mushrooms bloom on broken barks, and how kindness can have
the cruelest of starts.

Sanjay Kumar and Peeyush Chauhan

– Picture by Akshat Chourasia

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