Seasons Change
Seasons change
outside; scented wind
and the same stammering
breath,
outside me, you, are clamouring
calling the past, rummaging gossamer
dreams, in rain swept hills
punctuated by slithering silences
and- me, you, interlocutors
in theatre of change.
People do or do not change.
They want respite, cataclysms of desire.
They want love, then change
swirling in myths of artefacts in
crashing world.
They are dilettantes. They know some love,
some threads of hate, streaming down
rivers of bloodthirsty change.
Ananya S Guha
Shillong, INDIA.
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