Ananya S Guha writes

Summer Annunciation

It is afternoon,

as slowly, the sun drifts

into a seamlessly

closed world, mine 

and yours,

and outside there is not

even a whimper,

dogs cease to talk 

men cease barking 

the ghoulish night will arrive

still, there will 

be no one to talk to;

as winter has departed.

Winter departs,

with no reminder as to

how it came, interlocked

in skies, and hills 

touch them; tears in my eyes

go to this winter;

this summer 

and eyes moist, mist.