The gulmohor beside my window
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Most of the year she stands like a known
Too familiar one,
A tree like others that surround our house,
Giving company to other trees,
Winter, autumn, summer,
She stands by and large quiet
Barring those mild rustle
That breeze stirs up in her,
She stands as if looking at me
Through my window of bedroom,
Knowing exactly what novels do I read on my sleepless nights,
What movies I do watch of lonely evenings,
Which ways I adore my wife,
Knowing the colors of cushions and bedspread,
And also of curtains which sometimes stand between her and me,
Like veil,
But come spring
She will break out into red lustrous hues,
She will deck herself up so gaudily
That I simply can't move away my stare from her,
I gaze and gaze like some one struck by beauty,
Come spring,
She turns into a fairy
And gives me wonderous sense of love.
* published in The Indian Periodical, May 2018
