The memories come backlike the rainbow after the rainwith all the hues and shades of colorand an unending trainthe bougainvillea tree nearby my parents house where I grew updid not ask me my nameshe embraced me as she had donein my schooldays in every way the samethe little squirrel just nowtip-toed down the lanelooking at the spectacleunfolding in the rainafter all these yearsI have come back to my parents homethe clouds have different shapesbut the air smells the same ...

-Avijeet Das

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