Haunting
Here on the lonely chair I sit and wait
For the little droplet of nectar that’s slowly forming
Inside the warm womb of the dahlia
The gradual coming down of night and her mystic attendants
I relish with a warm cup of coffee, I sip at
The bliss of being alone, when nobody’s around
Is that a shooting star? Has it gone right past my head?
I ask you, whose long absence I have grown used to
‘Cause light years ago we used to sit together
Little dew drops spluttering upon my head
A night bird screeches past, and in an instant
I find you, once again in my arms, your dead eyes still glaring.
Copyright © Prasenjit Banerjee | Year Posted 2015
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