Ankur Betageri
	Spring  The spring is dense, intense as if to give a permanent shape to our feeling – the jackfruit's resinous fibers when cut, are like our brains a sweetness stored in humility and thoughts in fruits, half-fruits, strands. The spring is momentous for small things, buds while the broad leaves wilt and wait to fall thrilled by the shrill cries of their long-awaited sprout.  Footfalls crunching the leaves are softened by a green silence washing the ‘worn habit of glance’ to rapt curiosity, and eyes absorb the leaves overlapped in different shades. The mute resonance of park occupies my unsteady walk and wonder, shy to ask receives the sparkle of shrubberies like a sudden turn of phrase. Spring changes the way we speak the climbers have intertwined the bars of gate and smiling bluebells are amused at my utterances; which cannot mean as much as their blueness could.