Indian Spring

When I crush the tender ice below my feet ……as I walk in downtown Toronto
I think of the Indian Spring…..the cuckoo’s song, the smell of Jasmine
The wind chill reminds me of the warmth I willingly left behind
The warmth of my language, loved ones and my past pulled into tomorrow

I walk bundled up in my jacket and reach the intersection of Queen and Bay
I think of the Gulmohar- lined streets in my town blushed into crimson red
Of how the cuckoo’s notes woke me every summer from my bed
The dawn splendidly attired by the gifts of May.

I walk along the frozen lake and think of Godavari’s banksI
think of the long evenings I spent with my friends when I get on subway
I can’t help but smile upon the laughter that rose out of those pranks
A few things left behind and so many to catch on my way

These memories of the Indian Spring lead me into a cold cold winter………
And give me the dreams that I may realise as I crush the ice so tender.

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