I sense a seived Respighi in the zephyr.
Nature falls, settles, becomes nature.
We wander, cross the mock Devil’s bridge
and the bench where you had declared
that your pancreas had a rot, had claimed
you had cancer. Later we knew about your lie.
I wonder how and why lies invite truths,
devour those after a celebratory slaughter
and become those. Is that the reason you had
this recent appointment with the Reaper,
died from cancer but not from the variant
you claimed to suffer from in order to secure
a corner of me, us? We stroll over the leaves,
one alive and dead, and the other less dramatic.
.
Kushal Poddar
Picture Nick Victor
Kushal Poddar lives in Kolkata, India
amazon.com/author/kushalpoddar_thepoet
Author Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/KushalTheWriter/
Twitter- https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe
.