by Ananya Sarkar
Sitting by the window lonesome
It flutters through the breeze
Rustling the leaves of memories
And treading on forgotten paths.
It has defined who I am and will too who I will be
Shaping my life like a potter’s hands
And oft in the bylanes of crowded cities
A near-familiar face or a half-hidden tree
Brings it back like the infest of bees
Stinging without relent, consistently.
Life swirls around me
Tossing to and fro
Till I find myself in the pitfalls
Of the endless past.
And try as I might
To swim out to the top
It sucks me like a black hole
This magnetic well of the past.
The years turn by
Like gasping, gyrating bodies
Leaving me no space
To elbow my presence.
And suddenly when I am jolted
From the wakeful sleep
The clock chimes the hour and the envelope peeks
from beneath the pillow--- unsealed,
While the dust motes floating in the light
Bring back the sunshine of another day…
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