SPRING

a poem by Raghunandan Ram, India

Spring …..
Whose colour
And glamour
Allures
The virgins
To adorn their desires
With flowers of requires
Is late, too late.
Trees,
Standing shorn of leaves
Parks,
With de-charming haunts
No cuckoo, no music
And Holi
With no passion
And no attachment
Scarcely sense Spring ,
The season of joy,
The god of beauty & love
Is late, too late

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