by Moinak Dutta
Even if I miss it,
The onset of spring I mean,
That Red oleander tree would surely know
At which hour the spring would arrive,
When and how,
For she would bloom sure,
Even before cuckoos would start singing,
And fragrance of gulal would float in the breeze,
Even if I miss spring
The red oleander would not,
For she would bloom
Despite everything
In every spring
Moinak Dutta is a teacher, poet, fiction writer. He has two published fictions to his credit: “Offline@offline,” and “In Search of Laradice.” He edited an anthology of poetry called “Whispering Poesis.” Many poems and stores written by him have found their way into dailies, magazines, journals, e-zines, and anthologies. He loves to do photography and travel.
