Civilizations

“You breathe, thanks to the phytoplanktons”

expounds a wise man

“April is the warmest month”

sighs another

 

But it doesn’t matter -

shadows

linger along the silent white wall

in an eternal stupor

a slow humming wind

drags along like a tired caravan

on this dry , drawn-out afternoon

parched by a lonely sun

 

A wind-chyme

makes a feeble effort -

twinkles the dust-laden remnants of leaves

a stillness is stirred

fading to the gray;

 

Civilizations

lie

cold and buried under.

**

Anant Dhavale