Seasons Change... - Poem by Ananya Guha
outside thre is the odoriferous wind
outside me you are clamouring
calling past, rummaging dreams
outside you will be treading dreams
asking for benisons, from rain swept hills
punctuated by silence
and me you interlocutors
in the theatre of change.
People do or do not change.
They want respite in cataclysm of desire.
They want to love and then change
swirling in myths of a crashing world.
They are dilettantes. They know some love.
Some hate, streaming down rivers of bloodthirsty change.
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The Road Not Taken
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