Once upon a spring

This spring I realised that I was dead in the spring of twenty three. But I will live on, in the sepiatic warmth of springs. I realised that people travel through the mists of winter, Far across the other side of cotton-flower filled autumn, Carrying the showers of Srabon, to dive into the monsoons, And wake up in a summer noon. I felt that I will take this trek too, To find those moments, And save them in my jar of happiness. I realised that I was not here, in the springs to come, I couldn’t breathe and fill my lungs with amaryllis anymore, Nor could I look up and dazzle my guilty eyes with the bright blue sky. I was not there, in those springs, To hold the hands of my child, But I will, I will be alive, in the spring, Where we met for the first time, And held it together. And perhaps now I understand- It is only us, who have always wandered like the bees, But it’s the spring, That never leaves.