Clouds
In November
They just turn into grief
And pour upon you.
And the road to your nest
And to your heart
Is washed away.
Clouds
They hide everything vile on earth.
Dare not open their hearts
Lest the stain of blood will show.
No one is innocent until proved guilty.
In Lakhimpur, Nellai*
Anywhere
The road in the middle of nowhere
Starts nowhere, ends nowhere.
It is just washed away.
Just washed away.
*Thirunelveli
Thank you for sharing insight into this event in India (also, in this context the poem hits different) .
The November clouds above our heads, the darkness and the sadness, the melancholy in it, I feel the pain… Greatly written!
Lakhimpur, Nellai, anywhere, greed kills compassion and logic
Whenever I come back to read this poem, I return with a heavier heart
poems that haunt our souls are the treasures a poet's pen blesses us with---a heaven full of stars for this write
Thank you, Susie for inviting me back to this poem. It haunts me, I believe, more than anyone else
The poem haunts the senses of the readers. A road in the middle of nowhere is the sum up of all the happenings on that fateful day. Brilliant poem.
Thank you Aarzoo. There are two true-life incidents behind this poem, that haunt me even today. Of one, I have written in the poets" notes. I will write about the other, maybe later
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A sad and haunting write of dark days and a road in the middle of nowhere as we all stand in this road with no end and no beginning, just lost in the dark days that come our way! Brilliant write!
Thank you Hazel for the beautiful comments. Faced with extreme human tragedy, man finds himself lost on the road in the middle of nowhere! Hazel Thank you very much for reading the poem and offering the encouraging comments.