Spring

It was the March of 2011
when spring was middle-aged
but I was a boy, stepping into Calcutta
for the first time with a notebook.

One year passed, then another
and then another:
from Spring it was Spring Again
the boy grew up, a book got written.

Now is February 2015

spring is in its youth
too hot to get under the quilt
too cold to switch on the fan.

Yes, spring is in its youth
but the boy suddenly middle-aged
weather is always lovely
but time spares none.

Now you know why I asked you
yesterday: to hold my hand and
show me your Calcutta?
So that I feel cared for and young again.