I once knew a tree - a long time ago –
as I walked by she used to sigh over me,
she formed the backdrop to a favourite photo,
starlight was filtered through her canopy.
I knew her bark, her long-tailed leaf shadows,
the sounds and textures of storms in her limbs,
the comings and goings of doves and sparrows,
the poetry of her seasons verbatim.
It’s been a long time since I’ve left her shade,
years since I’ve felt her sigh on my commutes.
All memories, glorious or not, must fade,
all leaves diverge away from their roots.
But even so. They’re made of the same sap.
And her fogged image is a happy recap.
You know how life sometimes feels like one of those painter's shade cards? - with little square patches from every shade of terrible to awful to merely bad, and yet you're still awestruck by it because it still looks all kinds of amazing overall? Well, that's my life right now, and that image of a fogged up, eerie tree in a winter morning in Delhi was beyond feel-good.