The path unbends and prolongs on
out of its short frame. I have left
the sunlit part, cared chrysanthemum,
curlicues of youth behind.
All for you. I whisper tasting
the sweet bitterness of orange winter,
“For a short road it roams for eternity.”
A shadow of a bus passes us.
Last week’s newspaper folks and asks
to be fed. We can name each fallen leaf
but we won’t. “All for you.”, Says my daughter
pointing at the haze eating away distance.
Kushal Poddar
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