Treasure Island

Rites Ghosh


The Afternoon Sun Of Me


this may be a yellow afternoon:

floating lights sailing over
green waves of jolly leaves-

or leaves' green palms like
bright porcelain fills up
some enermous truths-


passing yellow hours
too rife to stand-

before it has to clip wings,
it'll spread stories of violet joy-

and certainly admits
no mournful chirpings of birds
that seeing their way home


no time hounds me, though
I'm too old and ruptured-
sun's afternoon has rings
of bright silence round me-

familiar faces on this slow
wavering motion path
come and go-one and two,
by this red brick way-down
the perceived land of beauty-

some I see now
very new and nascent-
the other too familiar,
missing round the corner
yesterday is wiped to redress
in green strength of today-

nothing stirs: light has free fall-
may be, they may not see me here
tomorrow - nothing'll stir,
only you may feel,
my golden wealth like
endless sun wallowing
in your green corridors-

Submitted: Saturday, August 02, 2014

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Topic(s): death

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