Tuesday, December 8, 2015

Ananya S. Guha- A Poem


And then the roads while gathering dust
pick up granules of past. Little specks.
Only wayward street children understand 
these particles of dust, and they can 
smother faces into an ugly smog.
Or how the dust can be thrown at faces 
as muck. Children are sufficient enough
to understand storms that take place
on highways, and withered streets- moribund
houses or in down town play time.

Adults hold the storm with a little
finger and suck dreams. They are 
measured by what they do not see
but what they think they faintly understand
including repositories of their bodies.

Ananya S Guha

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