The Memory / Nostalgia


The fiery Gulmohar was gone.
The deep crimson foliage vanished,
Like it was a vagabond –   
Out in blossom,
But not quite right for the place.


I miss the fiery Gulmohar.
The glory of Gulmohar is still etched
In my head.
I saw the riot!
In the hot, bright weather.


During the festering heat,
I saw such flowers –
In the flowering of the Gulmohar!
It makes a great garden for me,
Though the tree grows far from my home.


For many many days together,
The dark spires of cloudscape
Have been covering us with rains.
The rain brought enough glitter –
For wild flowers to show.


But, no man can fathom,
How much I miss the Gulmohar!
My Gulmohar was eternal Spring!


21st July 2016


Geeta Chhabra

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