Gulmohar Annuals

2014

The fierce passion, the loud expression

The gentle grace of confidence

An ode to the blazing sun

A red crown for summer

The glorious Gulmohar

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2012
Gleaming in the morning sun,
Washed clean of all dirt by first rain,
Gulmohars are abundantly gregarious,
Like a million parrots congregated.

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2011
Few come alive
In an Indian summer
As the fiery Gulmohar.
Bouquets of orange and red
Torches bright uninhibited
Flames of passion
Bedazzle the sun
Then the proud bask
In their own glory.
Cheerleaders of the season.

Spring 2014 in Bangalore

Spring arrives spilling clouds of colour in Bangalore
Tabebuias, pink and yellow, head turners galore
As if to balance the loud South American fluorescence
Jacarandas stand a profusion of purple elegance
The feathers of white and pink, delicate crowns of raintrees
Festive invite for the city, birds, butterflies and bees
Flamboyant street liners everywhere that seize and grab attention
Competing with the noisy politicians and campaign billboards of election
Wearing bohemian rockstar wigs, shaking out blossoms with each breeze
Circular carpets filling out on the ground beneath with each tease
Only to be swept away each morning, a waste of colourful distraction
And on the boughs above, some more buds open out to the morning sun
A season’s reminder to renew and refresh, to stop, stand and stare
Give in to your temptation, take pictures, post and share.
Another month and the branches will go go bald and bare.
The campaign will get louder, an incessant glare and blare.
March, the month to immerse in the moment, pause and march on.
One knows not what this election will hold for the future of this nation
Linger in the comfort of known, cleanse the anxious burden of past, suspend worry of the uncertain
For spring yields to summer year after year, and its delicious promise of the mango season.

September Rain

When this rain is more than a rain

Raindrops force flowers to join them

Blooms of the season, of late monsoon

Wet earth littered with decorations

Perhaps it wanted to pluck the stars and the moon

Those tiny wisps of light, stars are now sky jasmine

Carelessly tossed, I imagine

Just for a night, And the suns are African tulips, frangipani the moons

Basking in the ancient light of dead stars, radiant

Willingly separated from their parent

To perfume and colour this night.

A universe freshly laid out on this earth

Perhaps you too are among them

My lost brother

A deliberate coincidence,

A season’s reminder,

Of the blessing revisited in our lives.

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