March is when
The day begins early
And lasts longer
The night like a jilted lover
Stands in drunken stupor
Under street lamps
Groping for December,
The neem tree
Rocks on its feet
Like a punch-drunk boxer
Refusing to quit
Though it bleeds leaves,
The air cracks show on the plaster
Shadows look for shade
The feet stop
Without asking
At tender coconut stalls
And eyes look gratefully
At the rain tree
The builder has spared
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nothing but poetry
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