Poetry: Ananya S Guha

Ananya S Guha

Ananya S Guha

And these voices
inherent in hills
as the twig ruffles
across roads smelling
of  tars, the voices dig
into the body, penetrate
hill tops, where houses squat
and the pines looking surprised
voices mingle with skies
and the slopes of the hills
tears, voices
voices, tears
I burn my wishes in voices
inert, suddenly loud
as the hills suddenly burst
into night's rains.
My school day raincoats
are my dreams now.
Thunderous, clapping of voices
as the hills melt into jagged sky blues.

1 comment :

  1. AMAZING last line to this poem. Great poem. Brilliant imagery in that last line.


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