The Esplanade Poem by nimal dunuhinga

Sitting on a stripped isolated bench
An immigrant watches the pious Churchgoers
In different dresses and their style of walking!
Snow flakes fall from the barren sky
Like the parentless embryos
And he thinks of his native country.
The cast iron bells of village ringing
And the deaf old priest,
Once his acquaintance with the strict Master.
He plays the role as an obedient servant to him
Who orders to sweep the entire premises
And he sniffs the Jasmine flowers
Scatter on the silent ground.
Almost forgotten the chants of Pali & Sanskrit
Miniature candles extinguished in the winds past
And that continuously whipped him by the time of cruel life!

*I humbly dedicate this poem to the finest short story writer Anton Chekhov in gratitude.[ Anton Chekhov's life was the epic novel he never wrote.By the spring of 1904 Chekhov was failing rapidly, which did not keep him from thoughts of entering the Russo-Japanese War as a doctor.Instead he let himself be persuaded to go to the German health resort of Badenweiler, near the Black Forest, for treatment.On the night of June 29 he described to his wife an idea he had for a story.A few hours later he was dead.His body was sent back to Moscow in a railroad car marked Fresh Oysters.]