Wednesday, April 8, 2020

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.

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