Tara Arya

A poet at heart
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On a dull Monday morn
As I stare vacantly forlorn
A sight shocks me out of stupor
The Jacaranda blooming in splendor...
Tresses of vibrant purple
Forming a magnificent spectacle
Ever so gently swaying
Celebrating life, mocking
The scene subtle yet so sharp
Whirls me into a time warp..
Long lost memories cascade
In kaleidoscopic palisade..
The warmth laden spring air
Of languorous days without care
Times filled with zest and hope
When the spirit could bounce and cope
Reminisces cloaked in hues of green
Of new born foliage sparkling clean
A meadow dotted with magenta heads
Of mimosa sprigs sprung from the dead
Of Gulmohurs flaunting their blazing red
With carpets beneath waiting to be tread
Soporific summer afternoons
Dreaming under silvery moons
Flying kites, scraped knees
Fleeing from angry bees
The first delicious rainy spell
Grandma’s wafers’ heavenly smell
Of monsoon ponds with croaking frogs
And balancing on slimy logs
Over streams gushing
And brooks rushing
Jacaranda!—fill me with passion and desire
Oh Jacaranda!- make me alive forever!

Note- This poem did indeed happen on a Monday morning –when I had the blues. A chance gaze at a quiver of bright purple flowers high up on a branch against the fresh spring green leaves – the beauty and “aliveness” did something indescribable –infused me with happy memories from childhood..
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