The distant, unfamiliar look in your eyes
My paradise lost in bitter reveries of faith.
Spring blooms outside our window,
Crimson, emerald, patches of cherry red
scattered like snow
Brief reminiscent of the past,
an old Christmas tree and indelible marks
of coffee on the table.
/Rustling of leaves and the fresh fragrance
of grass and wet mud doesn't break your thoughts.
By noon, you leave.
And here I sit, telling my springtime tale of
a paradise lost, somewhere between my
stormy thoughts of a bleak tomorrow
and the winter of your ice blue heart.
(c) Ayushee Ghoshal
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