Palash and Peacocks

Indian autumn feels muted,

but spring is vibrant.

The woodlands come alive

with blazing orange blooms of palash,

the flame of the forest.

We used to boil the petals

and turn them into

organic colors for Holi,

body stained for days.

I’ve seen crows, parrots,

and peacocks

feeding on the blossoms.

Nostalgia haunts me,

so, I painted

peacock on its branches.

Not long ago,

I met a writer unclw,

who saw my art,

rad my poems,

and said:

“It seems like we writers

are all fond of palash.”

I nodded.

It has no fragrance,

but it sets fire on the hearts,

when it graces the forests.

Another ode on palash: