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April 3, 2016 / Vandita

Shambling the Bramble

Autumnal spring’s zonking through our town that wears its heart on its sleeve like well-toned abs. Mahua leaves sprint the airscape competing with flowers brambling through nooks and crannies. It’s all hombre. This year we’re tripping through the softness of the revolutionary sixties and seventies: last year we were sunning on the beaches of traditional insouciance. The cool warmth of spring on autumnal branches shambles us on and we ramble. The traffic suddenly mellows down to a purr and autumn whirrs its magic on some of us crazied footloose. Cities and towns simply chug through with people all enervated and euphoric. One of us suddenly realizes “March, madness and hare”. We throttle our laughs.
The madness is on them. We were crazy as always: books were sun-kissed brambles for us and we shambled through them shamelessly wrenching out our future lives from them. Dancing through the spring filled with falling leaves, sighing with the loaded brief of vernal green we were stalwarts at predicting who’d be the next whos who. The banners they march with and the soft dreams they pelt us with are as porous as yesteryears. The summer floods embrace no one but tingle the nippy air to underwrite promises.
Life goes on. Closed for a long time, schools unlock their bars. Holidays mist. Life comes to a circle… we watch excited, furtive. Those were the years we never knew we would never end up as another brick in the wall. The spring rips the trees of their last sap and enlivens the air.
Sojourners trek our metropolis intermittently and shrug at the halted life. But we know, life’s a stroll and a tread so we trek. And, as always, we ken change is constant because we are adrift on similar shots of diachronic time-spools.


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