Mallika Bhaumik writes

Interpretation

The words fell,
 and I almost knew they would,
 like the withered leaves of autumn,
carrying a silence within them
that looked pitifully at my face.
And that was your answer.

And I see the sun melting at the western horizon,
a grey melancholy wrapping the empty benches of the parks,
their gloom unveiled through a high pitched song sung by a blind beggar,
and a fleet of buses and cars huffing and puffing up the city roads.
I walk along
see the image of a home crumbling, receding, fading

I reach the place I live in ,
I climb the stairs, and click open the door,
- step into a void.

 
Empty Bench, Monterey -- Reid Woodward