Friday, March 23, 2012
I sit under the Gulmohur tree.
In the soft winter breeze the leaves
Fall on me like unseasonal rain.
I can see the bluest clear sky
Through the swaying patchwork umbrella
Of tiny leaves that cover my head.
This tree was once planted by you.
Now you’ve gone to that nameless place
From where nobody ever comes back;
I can only lay my trembling hand
On the thick trunk of this young tree
And feel the pulse of your throbbing life.
Everybody must leave sometime.
As the gentle rain of yellow leaves
Falls on me from a clear blue sky
I can only think of you and ask,
“What shall I leave for the world
To remember me when I’m not here”?