A neem tree grows outside the french windows
In my bedroom.
Casting its shade and bitter fragrance
On to my desk
My books
My belongings
And me.
In the scorching summer heat
I wilt a little with the tree
When the leaves wither
And the mournful cawing of the crows
Swirls melancholy over the parched earth.
Then the tree comes back to life
The bitter green washing through me again
To renew, restore, rejuvenate
The neem tree a bright flame of green
Fragrance of life outside my window.
(NaPoWriMo 2024)
At the Madhya Pradesh Tribal Museum in Bhopal earlier this year.
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