Spring has come. Certainly. I can see it in your dancing eyes, in trees bending down to me saying : "miss, you look pretty today", in cascades of morning dew on my barefeet, in prettines of blossoming greenery, and green blossoms, in talking leaves, in my own solace for better days, for better light on my life journey. In book pages, you can catch sight of me, swinging from the beginning to the end. You wake up one morning out of that wintery hybernation, ready for socializing with that stranger on a street, with a new book in a park, with birds perching on willow trees. Winter somehow prevents us from socializing, brings laziness in blankets and cups of tea, reading a book under a sad-looking lamp, with every page read welcoming sleep.
Are we all the same, celebrating spring on HER whistle announcing love for lovers, song for birds, poem for dreamers? Spring brings us closer to how it looks in paradise. Nobody imagines paradise as cold cave, greenless walls, and airless chambers. If spring is love for air penetrating all your senses, love for every step approaching sunful lust, love for colored pieces of every sight you give, a love for people reading in parks, love for majestic creativity of the earth, can you feel that easiness on your chest recently? Everything has a smile. A life. An ardent look. No injuries. Just palpable curiosity. Everything evokes idiosyncrasy missed a second later, created in new image.
When spring comes, a sudden lust for echoes in deep wells overreigns me. I wanna scream out of that easiness in my chests: