The winter crowd

It’s again a busy day,

Monday blues as we call it.

He fixed the tie only to feel a hindrance around his neck.

People with slouched shoulders, wrinkled foreheads

eyes on the logos of engagement.

The bittersweet rays of the winter sun

illuminated her tired face.

Made her eyelids heavy,

From all of yesterday’s late night-

The deadline madness.

Running in circles, people with geometric faces,

pied piper of life

endless rat-race.

Fast paced cars blowing off smokes

the city air is bristled with greyish dreams,

choked voices.

Heaviness of dirt settled on the

facet of leaves, the green-numbing cold

disrupted photosynthesis.

Of love, longing, and hope

this crowd only dares to whisper.

A pause, a detour against the flow

brought me to this wonderland.

Flesh and bones – like an alchemist’s art mingled into one

the night before, might be a lovers spat.

The sparrows are in the search of food,

cold breeze and chirpings cut the silence

erratic rhythms.

The joggers are on a routine journey

swaying to the forbidden tune.

The morning market is quite a scene

You call necessity, I see an artist’s palette.

By winter’s boon

the canvas is bountiful.

Jaggery – the sweet crumbles, it feels like a mother’s touch.

I made small earthen pots of these,

when I open the lids

this crowd penetrates and lingers in

my soul,

Even after I shed off the skin of

the parched being.

Divyangana Bhadra

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