Tuesday, July 15, 2025
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Versetile

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Missing people

 

In a busy street we find,

Things missing people

Things the street sweepers

Reverently reject.

And so they sit and stare the whole day,

The things without people,

Sitting looking at people.

 

And so strange,

These things without people,

How they place themselves in strange places

In strange ways for people.

 

Slippers in the middle of the road.

Shoes on footpaths.

A sock in a drain.

Children’s shoes.

Men’s shoes.

Women’s shoes.

Shirts. Shawls. Sweaters. Scarves.

 

Strange things standing out in the way,

Thrash they all say,

Garbage not more,

But the dark dawn sweeper hesitates,

And leaves it for perplexed day light public.

 

Something forgotten,

Something worn,

Something remaining forlorn,

 

The city noise does not drown out,

No crashing cars or cussing walker dampen,

Marks on dust gathering sun burnt rain wet things without people.

 

So I walk late night or early

morning thinking,

 

Who leaves shoes socks shirts and shawls?

In the road, in the street or, worse, folded neatly by a lake?

Who does that?

I think. I walk. I look.

And then I see,

An empty road,

A quiet street,

No lights. No noise.

Something soft, something clear,

Behind a corner somewhere.

 

And so I take off my shoes,

Place them reverently on the road,

And walk quietly

Quietly. Quietly…

 

Joshua Rynjah

 

A syrupy feeling

 

Made me tremble and excited abruptly.

Was the day really green… but not red…

May be… come to me

To accomplish my paper-heart.

As was still blank and bare.

Everything was unusual

Nevertheless, typical…

Thrilling heart competent too,

Perceiving words,

Designation that gifting me…

Angry unlike others….

 

Pleasant, happy and energetic

But why ignorant…

The heart touching sweetened green days…were nothing yet everything.

 

Was better than now.

Now seems to achieve everything

But nothing makes me troublesome

Of losing those days.

Of missing that syrupy feeling.

 

Mamu Rajkhowa

 

Oh! Amanda

 

The four walls of my hotel room

Are reverberating with your laughter

Reminding me of a deep sonorous melody

Coming from the gorgeous Elephant Falls;

Your innocent face wearing a mask

Of rare calm and composure

Is radiating inner peace, the days of

incessant agonies have gone by;

 

A fighter in you have

Sustained the darkest hours

Of living in penury, losing

Your parents one by one at the

Age of playing with Barbie dolls, and

Grappling with acute run of tuberculosis

With rarest of courage

And uncommon perseverance;

 

Rainy season has set in and

The spattering of rainfall

Seems never ending, countless

Droplets have cast a transparent net

Over the lofty mountains,

All your tears have been wiped away

By the gentle strokes of water from sky

Brushing aside all shades of grey.

Rainbows are in attendance only for you,

Amanda, only for you.

 

Rakesh Chandra

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