of dusk and dragonflies

6./

the blossom in Hyde Park
was early this year
and now petal upon petal
is washed away with the rain

7./

tell me again
how the sun always rises
after it sets

8./

In London's rain, there's a rhythm, a rhyme,
A story unfolding, one drop at a time.
It's the city's pulse, the beat of its heart,
A symphony played on the windowpanes, a chart
Of moments fleeting, yet eternally captured,
In the rain's embrace, London is enraptured.

9./

the magnolia trees are in bloom
on the banks of the Thames
and if I reach high enough


up
I might climb these branches
to grasp at the heavens"

10./

when city blossoms bloom
facades muted in winter slumber
come alive
aromatic spices
onions, chilli and overflowing drains

the streets begin to fill
spilling out from living room bars
they line the pavement in groups
of twos
and threes
past bagel shops, curry houses, grafittied walls
and vintage windows
not even retreating when twinkling lights
replace the fickle springtime sun

clutching foam topped beers
they huddle together
anticipating summer

11./

I would be remiss if I did not mention
the symbolism of the April shower.
So I will.

12./

birds chirp on rooftops
flowers bloom among concrete
spring in the city

13./

In the quiet corners of my cluttered room, where dust motes dance in sunbeam’s embrace, I wield the broom, a weary custodian,
Sweeping away cobwebs and memories
The broom bristles against the floorboards, dislodging ashes of forgotten fires, I sweep away fragments of love and loss,
As if spring cleaning could mend life’s frayed wires.
The clock ticks, measuring my futile efforts, dust motes settle once more, like memories unclaimed,
And I wonder if this ritual of renewal, can mend the cracks in my soul, left untamed.
So I gather the remnants of nostalgia, fold them neatly into cardboard boxes, And tuck them away in the recesses of my heart,
Where spring cleaning cannot reach
For amidst the polished surfaces and empty spaces, lies the ache of what was, what could have been, And as I close the door on this melancholy reverie, I realize that some stains cannot be wiped clean.

14./

Leaves grasp the twilight,
Nature's breath in short whispers,
Day ends with a sigh.

15./

Gentle rains whisper,
Green fields bask in soft sun's glow,
England's summer blooms.