The white fluffs float, the dappled blankness
touched
by
a dominant light-yellow
of an
afternoon about to change
into
lighter complexion of a new dusk.
The pallid leaves fly, settle down,
a few feet
away
from their arboreal homes.
Rusted-gold piles up against
the dull-grey of the well-trod
pavements, growing green
in
the cracks.
The wind is rough, ruffles
the hair, tied up in a bun,
the fringes
kissed by a hot breath, and, a purple
blush
on
the young cheeks.
It again plants a neck-kiss, the playful
breeze.
A smile breaks out on a tired
face, hands pruning the roses,
bitten by the prickly thorns, despite
the gloves.
Somewhere, far-off, someone
whistles an old song,
the plaintive notes dissolve in the
gathering gloom.
A puppy barks in the backyard.
The Canadian geese fly for nests
in
an abandoned farm seen from a passing car.
.
Sunil Sharma
Picture Nick Victor
Academic |Writer | Critic | Editor | Freelance Journalist | Reviewer | Literary Interviewer
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.