each spring, i try to count the gossamer-
seconds of a sun-stricken day, that
is not too long or too short anymore.
each spring, i return to the same old
snapshot, which is only defined by
its heat, against my lengthy heart-
palpitation or recovery of eyesight.
each spring, i try to return where i was,
somewhere down the rainbow mile of
a memory that is now too far behind.
each spring comes with its armored-
chest & wheezing cough, and i look
for a dial on my streamlined life, that
could turn back the flow of time,
encapsulating all these springs in
a needle-hand, pointing right at
the point of my origin or perchance
the drop-dead familiarity of its end.
.
© Anmol Arora
Linking it up with my ‘Open a Book‘ challenge at With Real Toads for the 10th day of the poetry month. I opened at random a page from the Six American Poets anthology (edited by Joel Conarroe) and my sentence of inspiration was the first line from Wallace Stevens’ Anglais Mort A Florence: “A little less returned for him each spring”.
Day 10
(Inter)National Poetry Month
HA's Place 
Beautiful poem and beautiful picture.
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“each spring, i try to return where i was,
somewhere down the rainbow mile of
a memory that is now too far behind”
Love that! Spring does come with a host of regular allergens. It seems to never change, but I so love the newborn feeling of the season.
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“each spring comes with its armored-chest & wheezing cough, and i look for a dial on my streamlined life,”… this is incredibly deep and introspective, Anmol! ❤️ Life is like that sometimes.. we are reminded of past events every year as winter transitions into spring.. there is also the matter of ‘spring fever’ which a lot of people experience .. I have been there and have had my share of despairing days .. of gloom .. and despondency .. at times spring is cruel in its depiction of joy when our mind’s sky is grey .. I am reminded of the words by Faiz here 🙂
Arz kia hai:
“Bol ke lab azaad hain tere,
bol zabaan ab tak teri hai,
tera sutvaan jism hai tera,
bol ke jaan ab tak teri hai.”
❤️
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Each spring is a beautiful poem in its conception, Anmol. You did really well using it as a springboard. I like the verse,
“each spring comes with its armored-
chest & wheezing cough, and i look
for a dial on my streamlined life, that
could turn back the flow of time …”
I think all of us would like to do that. For various reasons.
..
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I’ve never thought of Spring coming in with a cough before, but it does. It coughs up warm weather, then cold, then windy, then still. Everyone gets Spring coughs and colds.
Brilliant!
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I enjoyed the poem, the painting, and Nat …but aren’t you going to tell us what your book was? (I am guessing your title came from the first sentence you landed on?)
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I forgot to add that, Rosemary. My bad!
I opened the poetry anthology that is always present in my vicinity and my sentence, in adherence to the prompt, turned out to be the first line of Wallace Stevens’ Anglais Mort A Florence: “A little less returned from him each spring”. I took “each spring” and used it as a title as well as a refrain.
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The problem is it takes a year for each spring to arrive, thus leaving us with more memories and less future.. thus, in my minds eye the rainbow memories we aspire to recapture.. beautifully told, Anmol.
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You chose a gem of a line for inspiration. And the poem you birthed out of it is an even brighter jewel. I can see the speaking, each spring… wanting to gather himself fully, trying to hold on to all the bits of his living, wanting what will come without having to let go of all that was.
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I like the cyclical effect you have achieved with the repetition of ‘Each spring’. There is a sombre tone which belies the subject of spring.
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I’m luxuriating in the wonderful tones of Nat King Cole while reading your poem, Anmol. The song is a new one to me – thank you. The use of sibilance in ‘gossamer-seconds of a sun-stricken day’ conveys the gentle ticking of the spring clock, and I love the phrase ‘each spring, i return to the same old
Snapshot’; the repetition of ‘each spring’ emphasises the freshness of the season even though it is so familiar.
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