Abha Das Sarma
Bio Note: With the passing of each year and all of us siblings growing older, I find myself thinking about the inevitable more often. Writing about it helps me through the difficult times. I am thankful to Verse-Virtual for providing the opportunity and support.
The city was waking up, The morning softly landing on the house tops. A family of pigeons huddled on the bridge, The lone spectator of the speeding car. The driver was quiet through the verdant land That revealed the climbing timber trails now and then. Below, the stream puzzled at this sudden turn. Detaining the sun, the sentinels of the Himalayan range Changed colors in layers and Holding the remnants of my stay in their folds Pledged permanence. I let the truth pass. The pain that crept as the darkness swept Claiming my body to be a hostage. The streak of tail lights pierced the dreamy curtains Turning a grieving red. I tried to sleep counting white lilies, Thinking of the water pond, descending mist. The droplets clung to the clothesline in anticipation. The autumn trees had begun creating golden beds, One for each of us.
©2022 Abha Das Sarma
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