This spring, overflowing with flowers doesn't bring much happiness to me. What it brings are only memories on a broken mirror in which I dress myself with crushed flowers as tears drip from my eyes.

Is this fiction or a fable I narrate? Even these in reality have divorced me, there is no realism nor hallucinations left to see since that spring when you left me alone, very alone to suffer and repent at slow leisure.

Was it my desperate haste to cage you as you said in my embrace of death? Not because I am afraid to die which I am. I still am a coward, I couldn't cut circular patterns on the veins terilling my hands tonight if I wanted to.

Dying anyway is a matter of few springs And I live because I have learnt something if not from you, from your remembrances that come to me these lengthening days

wearing green eapulettes of new leaves, that life is worth living at least to look, remember and smile at these red masses of flowers that come, these red gulmohars of my springs.

1999:02:10 IIT Kgp, India

On looking at a gulmohar tree in the middle of a class and suddenly remembering someone then.

Note: I changed a lot of these lines today. My old poems sound so gauche, like bad English romantic poetry. 2002:06:16 Atlanta

ravishing ravi shankar on the radio and want to thank you for your following comment in my alpha weblog aqss / that's almost nearly all the french i remeber from the 2 years of french i have taken. i see that you are multilingual which is awesome and which also means I can't understand most of what you have posted sadly! I have put in a bio page so that folks can check the man beind the mask so as to speak, apss

of course i visited your impressum and read information & picture with interest! best regards to U.S.A - as i believe u're there now, right? woelfin alpha.antville.org, vienna