At Springtime

  
    At Springtime

A tree is white with flower,
    Another's tender green.
And yet another's waiting
    For season soft, serene.

At threshold, Spring is knocking
    As Winter bids goodbye,
The little birds are chirping
    And laughter's in the sky.

At curbside, lies a sparrow
    That's bleeding from her neck.
Her head, alas, is missing,
    Her body is a wreck.

But who, at her, is looking,
    On such a glorious day,
When clouds above have parted
    And April hints at May?

The days are slightly warmer,
    The tulips rise up, red,
And there's a new beginning
    For what appeared as dead.

So when will you be coming,
    Who left in wintertime,
To join with us in singing
    At Resurrection-time?

The body's gone, the spirit
    Is wandering, some will say.
As winter ends, this April,
    The Jews and Christians pray.

The Jews remember Egypt
    And their insistent God.
The Christians say their Jesus
    Rose up and is their Lord.

But since I'm not a Christian
    And even less a Jew,
I often wish, at springtime,
    The one, who'd rise, were you.

Some weeks ago, at Holi,
    The colors flew in Hind,
And earlier, in Persia,
    The bonfires waved in wind.

The spring is like the morning,
    The summer like the day,
And autumn's like the evening,
    When daylight fades away.

And then, there is the winter,
    In colder climes, like night.
And that is when you left us.
    You always did what's right.

So though there's condemnation,
    The ones, who knew you well,
Remember that, for justice,
    Our honored martyrs fell.

And you preserved your honor,
    At price that was unjust.
And so, at every Easter,
    In grace, we put our trust.

For parents lost to falsehoods,
    How many children cry!
For Clan or God or Mammon,
    How many more will die?

How many are the parents,
    Through aeons stretching dim,
Who lost their precious children
    To Man's or Fortune's whim?

Will there be Resurrection,
    As ardently believed?
This sparrow, lying headless,
    By traffic, was deceived.

If there's a resurrection,
    This sparrow then will fly.
And you will then be smiling,
    And so, perhaps, will I.

You mother and your father,
    The one you took for spouse,
Will be, with you, united,
    In that ethereal house.

    Babui / Arjun
        2011 April 20th, Wed.
    Brooklyn