The city
lingers without
a sense of closure.
Each day relentless
and endless
Like a rehearsal
without a finale;
left me shrivelled
like strands of marigold;
aftermath of festivities.
A night of barsati monsoons;
I wept
With numerous eyes
of moist patches
staring
from moss eaten walls
The city gnaws
and nibble away
the sprouting tender roots
of belonging
I belong somewhere,
elsewhere;
Elsewhere
That bring
news of death
of loved ones,
of tedious living and silent dying.
https://soibamharipriya.blogspot.com©
