Voices from My Last Autumn
My autumn took a turn; Twenty thirteen was hard; You could spot me, half behind the bark.
Displaying my uneven teeth; in dusty shorts— torn chappal footfalls on the deathbed of last spring. That was, the last autumn I had. It passed away; with the Eucalyptus trees Was a norm; to dispose off unwanted outgrowths; sterilize the soil and build— a temple upon it.
No one lobbied; except maybe the— ghosts of my childhood. Was a quiet funeral; with no guests and Burial of coal tar and bricks.
I watch, the rain-water seep; through cracks of the window paint; that overlooks, the concrete perimeter. It makes my eyes drowsy.
Lokenath Roy
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