#polash

maybe it is intended. this slowness and finality of the end. maybe my neglect and indifference to expression especially poetry, and more so confession of this springtime, like every other springtime since.

I did not have to struggle at all this year, to find the tree leafless, red, in bloom. One sprang up right outside the window I sit next to in class. Maybe it is intended. My neglect and utter indifference to the need to look for it.

Since the last time next to a Calcutta ghat. Where it accidentally became a news-bearer of seasonal devastation. Familiar devastation. I had even begun to look for it, every year during this time. 

Point it out to people next to me, Try to get them to feel the sadness in March. This it how it bitters up. Right next to the brick walls, bouncing the red sunlight off young faces. And I sometimes point it out that the tree is leafless and in bloom, and it is maybe something symbolic in classical poetry... Most probably, something sad and deep...