Three girls wrapped in thin white scarves
grin at eachother. Rain and nymphea
conspire something joyous. A canoe
of light traverses the distance between
the shoulders, braves the waves of those
white scarves. Three sides of a piece
of gossip collide and separate.
The old moss black walls of the gully
turn and stare at me. I am a wanderer.
I say. No. The light shines an address plate
at the other end of the lane. No. If no one
tells you where you end everywhere you
maunder is your destination. I am the wall now,
the canoe lost in those rustling scarves,
the girl too silent even when she laughs.
.
Picture and words
Kushal Poddar
.
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