The gulmohor knows it all

The gulmohor knows it all I think

our days of meeting at night

just after spring evenings settling quiet

in our mufassil town, when the sky turned black

from pinkish blue, and Raghu opened his tea stall ;

the radio from his shop would blare songs of Kishore Kumar 

and Manna De;

And we would meet, under the gulmohor tree,

our eyes scanning each other, trying to muster over the thrill and adventure our bodies anticipated;

On some prized moments, leaves and red red petals of gulmohor would fall on us, 

our heads, our faces, our lips.

The gulmohor knew it all,

how we came close till the waves of changes came

and threw us apart.