a poem by Pushpalata Venugopalan, India

I’ve come to dread the spring;
So short-lived, so fickle,
A butterfly.
Decks the country in rich hues
But turns its back when in full bloom,
A desert it leaves!

I dread my mate be as fickle
When I in his arms gaze,
His eye o’er my head
Should seek another face!

I dread my mate treat me
As yet another spring a country;
And when spring has left me
He too leaves!

I dread I’d find one day
His love don’t match mine depth;
A different definition of love he hath
Perhaps that I cannot match!

I dread the day when I must
My children bid adieu
Leave their nests they must
Their own lives to live!

I dread to wake one day
And not find him beside;
I dread too if Death chose me
And he be left to strive!

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