The amaltas


Spring is for the Jacaranda
in purple, woken up cold
For the Flame-of-the-forest
in red, in its loosening hold.

When you let go of me, I saw
your coral fingers uncurl in
the petal of a Tiger’s Claw.

Summer is for the Gulmohar
in orange, too hurt to calm
For the unkempt Bougainvillea
in colours of unloved charm.

But the season of defeat for
the Amaltas heart is in yellow.
I succumb, become laburnumb.

*Anannya dasgupta

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