April 2023
Bio Note: I live in Bengaluru, India and come to the bay area once in a year to be with my three sons' families, specially the four granddaughters. I like to go on long walks in the sun then. Back in India, I spend a lot of time on my rooftop.
The day will rise
Above the meadows
Green with hope-
Above the night
That invades the spirit,
Darkens the sight
Before it lays down
At the feet of retreat.
Soon the day will rise
Above the branches
Drooping thin.
And he shall walk the streets
From bin to bin-
That lockup the bread
Torn at ends,
Fries tainted red,
Cans kicked in play
Before being let go with drops of sin.
He shall furrow until the sun climbs
Above the stained horizon-
Until the high up clock strikes one,
Until I pass under the bridge
In spite the warning
For safety or freeze.
He shall then stand
In full human form-
Loose pants, cuffs folded,
Old crumpled jacket, black
On an otherwise bare chest,
Head down to let the sun
Not pierce through.
I shall wait at the crossing
To see the golden top
Of a faraway temple-
Until the bells ring.
©2023 Abha Das Sarma
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to say what it is about the poem you like. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -JL