Spring

Spring arrives not merely as a season but also as a provocation an ontological rupture veiled in blossoms. The word spring-echoes resistance, the image of coiled tension released, of a world rebounding from winter's pressure, yet this very recoil gestures toward a deeper disquiet, what does it mean to return, cyclically, to life, to warmth, to bloom, if each return is shadowed by the certainty of decay? Is spring a resurrection or a repetition compulsion?

In its relentless re-emergence, does it affirm life or mock it by reducing it to a patterned inevitability? If it does? perhaps then, to celebrate spring is to tacitly accept the farce of renewal; to lament it is to resist the seduction of nothing but a mere illusion. Either way, it demands reckoning, not with flowers, but with time, death, and the myth of progress.

Fahad Fayaz

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