on the terrace
a family of four sits on the terrace, eating
roasted corn—their murmurs indistinct but ardent.
the wind carries snippets of conversations,
words reach me in fragments: virus, death, world.
the world has given us too much to bear—
but autumn is here at last:
the flowers from the earthen pots wilt,
their leaves slowly fall, like dead bodies
from the sky into this morgue-like world.
oblivious to the falling flowers & rising deaths,
the family goes on eating. And i—their hard-
hearted neighbor—watch and smirk and forget.
Poetry by bibek adhikari
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Written on 2020-09-02 at 08:43
Tags Family  Life  Crisis
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