The Faces


The December morning
unfolds with a chill.
Opening the door
the breeze flows.

I pull around me
the pallu of my sari
walk down the path
pick the news papers.

The sun is on the horizon
I read the news
while a whiff of air
strikes my spine.

Wonder at the illusion,
the sun as radiant as ever
but the quiver I undergo
seems to deceive.

Gathering the dailies,
I get inside, rest myself
in the couch. Sense
a warmth.

Un relatable, yet I am inclined
an analogy with the men I know,
Possess many faces, one soft and gentle
while the masked is cruel and harsh,
the rest portend emotions optimal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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