April of Amsterdam

April came softly to Amsterdam,

with tulips waking red and gold,

and morning spilling silver light

where quiet canals their stories told.

At the Rijksmuseum, beneath the sky,

old masterpieces seemed to breathe;

while bicycles hurried past the gates,

and spring put green upon each tree.

Along the Prinsengracht, the water shone,

reflecting houses tall and bright;

their windows holding traces still

of countless dreams and borrowed nights.

At Dam Square, beneath the bells,

the city gathered, warm and wide;

and near the Royal Palace,

April wandered by my side.

We paused beside Anne Frank House,

where silence carried words profound;

a fragile hope, a human story,

still echoing through the streets around.

Then evening found the Magere Brug,

its white arches touched with flame;

the Amstel carried fading gold,

as though the sunset knew my name.

From A’DAM Lookout, high above,

Amsterdam unfolded like a dream—

red rooftops, bridges, canals,

all glowing underneath the gleam.

And through Vondelpark, beneath the trees,

the April breeze began to sing;

I learned that cities can have hearts,

and Amsterdam beats brightest in spring.

So if you ever find me lost

where tulips bloom and waterways gleam,

leave me there in April’s arms—

between a bicycle and a dream.

For Amsterdam is more than streets,

more than bridges, art, and rain;

it is April caught in amber light,

a beautiful ache you keep again.

                                — Meenakshi Singh