Un poème triste

Un poème triste

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There's so much of noise here
Take me out, will you?
I cant think in here
Cant breathe

And so we leave for a walk
There is a man muttering something
Around the corner
I often see him there
May be he speaks with god

Hold my arm, would you?
Walk me through the isles
And so we walk
Its an awfully quite evening

There's a bunch of kids playing in the distance - Few old people talking in muffled voices, You cant really listen to what they are saying; Silhouettes of trees against the fading sky, slowly moving to a gloomy wind

Its a dead little town
Lets get out of here
The old buildings seem to have gotten very old
In the evening glow
Its crumbling;
Melting drop by drop to a slow, agonizing death
But, you see, you cannot really go afar
Things always pull you back
Friends
Lovers
Even old streets and boulevards

And so the evening grows on us
Awfully quietly;
Let us go home
Its getting cold
The children in the distance
The old men in the park
Must have reached home by now;
You see,  not a lot of people like to walk alone
On such melancholy evenings
Muttering all alone
As if they were talking to the god
--
Anant Dhavale
Copyright @ Anant Dhavale 2015