O, CRY WITH ME I (Satis Shroff) Adieu winter, The signs of growth are here, Between sunshine and rain. There’s a subtle greening everywhere. People work line bees, Cutting and pruning weeds Using their ancient hoes To plough the terraces The joy that plants have survived Beneath the deadwood. There’s optimism in the air And with it hope, When crocuses rear their heads. Lovely lupins, delphiniums and daffodils, In the meadows of the Himalayas. People are bathing in the tributaries of holy rivers, Chanting vedic hymns. Those who have lost their mothers, Remember them through rites, Followed by a bath in the river Matatirtha. The sound of thundering hoofs in Tudikhel, In the heart of Catmandu. Snorting and foaming horses, And cheering Nepalese. Spectators who watch the great chariots Of Bhairawa and Bhadrakali. The joy of the fresh air, In the tranquility of the blue Mahabharat hills, Where life begins anew. The blackbirds, finches, thrushes Twitter and chirp to the glory of Prakriti
