Just when we smell a spring in the air
There is wave after wave of a hot sun.
We fall to earth like the neem flowers
Of a new season , with scent in the air.
Neem flowers are a sweet vernacular.
We smell our neem with a bitter taste
But they are our moonlight’s granules
And fruit promises nipped in the bud.
We live by promises by the moonlight
About wave after wave of fresh moons.
Our falls will be like our neem flowers
Bitter but fragrant like the new spring.