How long has it been,

No sight of the butterfly spring.

The eyes have searched for

the orange streaks of Palash

For days in nature's blush.

You knew that spring

wouldn't come again—yet

You looked at the horizon

now and then; and suddenly,

A sky of hues—

After brushing your skin, ran away.

And before you could understand,

It bloomed the flowers in your garden,

and went away.