Today, I stood beneath a cherry blossom tree
And for a moment
I was not in this place.
The soft pink petals in the hush of this spring awakening,
Took me somewhere far away.
To a road in India
I remember the Palash: reflecting the scarlet, the kesari, the saffron of the March Sun
Yes, spring arrives there in a differwnt coñor.
While Cherry blossom whispers in soft pink,
The Palash sings loudly as the flame of the forest
One teaches,
That joy can float softly through the air,
The other teaches,
That life can burst from dry, empty patches,
Yet both speak the sane message,
Both tell us that the winter has finished its long story
That somewhere the world is beginning again
Somewhere like a whisper
Somewhere like a flame
As I walk beneath these foreign blooms, carrying the fire of home in memory
Spring reminds me to bloom either in saffron or in pink glory
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