Dry Spell
Dry spell
On a summer day
the wind become standstill,
my memories enmesh
in the heap of dry leaves,
faces close enough
to feel the warmth,
silence fall back-
the tiny bird disappears.
the hand reaches out
after a brief pause,
the soft touches never
travel along the trodden track,
blazing tall trees
wisely leaving
the rain drop behind,
to taunt the tearful eyes.
Copyright © Gopal Lahiri | Year Posted 2020
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