Aprils Poem by Taposh Chakravorty

That for some years in April
I linger on trees with new leaves
in clear April skies,
I had put down to my advancing years;
finally taking that leave from life
ageing people are said to do.
Then why do I see
shy green leaves in yellow sunlight,
like light turned to leaf, clear
in clear blue sky;
why do I stare rapt with recognition,
stoned, acheing, remembering,
as if returned from another life?
Departure is masquerading as arrival.
What piled up codes are unraveling together;
what is the meaning of this
sly mixing of future with past?