Ananya S. Guha- A Poem

Faces

Semantically I forget names

I remember faces long gone

appearing sometimes with

the mad breath of wind. Rush.

Faces that sometimes brush

promontories of the mind.

Faces that are kind.

Faces that weep,

which I keep running  a gauntlet

to ease out the spittle in this world

to render warmth

to keep alive

a life which I sometimes lose

caught in this noose

a sequestrated trap.

Faces rotate

on origin of ash.