Abha Das Sarma
Bio Note: Having grown up in small towns of northern India, I currently live in the city of Bengaluru. Coronavirus has changed the world and besides families, many institutions have suffered too. Several schools have been shut for ever.
The doors never opened again. A rising yellow slithered through an umbrella of varied leaves Laying itself across the field, the breeze breathed silence. The parakeets flew in settling one by one and A lone kite perched high sat with its face turned. There was a time when the children would hurry in At the ringing of the bell behind the ornamental railing, All white, not dull not the kind the dead are covered with But a white that shines of past glory with a gentle swell in the middle, Bars spaced evenly apart. The bricks removed now from the boundary wall Making way for an alternate path, Windows opaque with dust and shadowed by Kadamba vriksha Waited in search of voices lost. The Sunrise English High School had hoped to grow into a level higher. In the corner the Cassia fistula continued to shower All afternoons with pendulous inflorescence of its golden amber.
©2021 Abha Das Sarma
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