In the thick of longing, I return
to the Banyan tree. Some branches
spread so far without losing

their way back to the root.
Others find sun; get homesick.
I've yet to smell anything

like the tremor of a monsoon.
I've been dreaming of a koel crying
after winter. Each solstice,

the days get lighter
and I darken; the sun showing
she still knows me so well.