Poem: Ananya S Guha

Ananya S Guha

Ananya S Guha


Every time the sun of my being
the moon of my desires
the emerald of my skies
I speak of lost hues
and blessings of the rain
Every time your marigold hair
is firmament of a spring time
with rain washed hills
and plum shaped faces
Every time the shores of happiness
are truncated by mists
even as there are whispers of death
and living a dangerous art
Every time the promontories of despair
mock the way of kneading lives
into a wholesome light
Every time you are there
I know the trees, the branches
and the earth filled universe rotates
on a love, heaving bosoms
of a mature earth
And every time then, I look towards
a future.
I stoke these hills steeped in passion
of winter and summer, even as light
caves in and darkness gets into membranes
and the mind is quicksand
Every time as the shadow falls
ghosts tread on earth
and hills of a life time where I have spent
walk cadaverous ways of the lonely,
the destitute.

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