The Fading Spring

Spring is here,

To color the empty trees,

To sketch new hopes for the hopeless gardeners,

To paint fresh fragrance in the atmosphere,

To show us how beautiful beginnings are.

Beginnings are beautiful,

The fragrance of new books,

The way ink dances on new pages,

The rustling sound of dried leaves,

Start to fade.

And nature wears a new,

Colorful dress altogether.

These are memories,

Of my young days, during Spring.

Except for the sound of,

That old ice cream seller ringing,

His bicycle bell along,

Except for the smell of my,

Late grandmother’s saree,

Except for the sugar syrup on my frock,

Which my grandfather bought.

The new spring has new beginnings,

Leaving the old skin,

It has worn a digitally advanced skin.

We no longer enjoy Spring,

Listening to cuckoo’s voice under,

A flowering mango tree,

We watch it from a distance,

Under an air-conditioned car roof.

We watch it through the camera

Or fancy sunglasses,

Or through the cubicle’s window.

I have grown up,

And unshed the innocence of childhood miles back,

Carrying only a bottle of sparkling memories.

The beginning seems frightening now.

I fear to lose the ones, left with me.

I carry a fragile broken heart

To protect it from,

Further irreversible damages.

I feel like this spring,

Does not belong to me anymore.

It is a loan I have to pay,

For the rest of my life.

For it has been forced,

To be more advanced,

Yet balance with the old.

In between the conflict,

The winner is declared,

But when has leaving been easy.

The beginning cries for its failure,

It has failed to balance,

And now it is suffering the banishment.