The dried parchment of fallen roses
Basking too brightly like a simmering darkness
I come upon the edges
The words take too long time dear friend
A cavernous niche budding at the plants
The roses were for autumn
A spring glance of glamour magic
A rundown air ways of steel blue cloth
Hanging around with a prosperous face
The dimming sunlight at the corners
Nature’s own mystical gallery
Pouring forth in autumnal haze, a hoax of paradox
Till I learned the failure of the gravity
Too nuisances at folded guttering.
.
Sayani Mukherjee
Picture Nick Victor
.