Outside my windows in the east
Is a Gulmohar tree;
Splashes of feisty red sway
… as the wind whispers through its leaves
A whisper…that carries the art of reminiscing
It uses a language, an energy of stillness
Unheard, but all conveying.
Sound is just a state of mind..
settled, and secure, I understand.
Day is breaking…
I walk up to the tree
Sit on the crimson carpet,
My fingers sift through the scarlet petals
Memories of my deceased pet-dog (Bibi)
light up for a day...
and then.... the hardest loneliness of all!
Absence is a fixed date in memory...
'Bibi, rest in peace....
This Gulmohar- is a keepsake for my mind
To celebrate your birthday every year on March 7th.'