• Published : 21 Jan, 2019
  • Comments : 0
  • Category : Poetry
  • Types : Poetry

The old temple walls

meshed in color, discolor

are silent as the birds.

 

The Ghats are homes to

sinners and saints:

living or dead.

 

The sun and skies are

involved in crimes; changing

combination of hues.

 

The old houses even breathe

a little; their heirlooms

far in the cities.

 

The old bazaars have

intact skeletons; people

visit various malls.

.
The Ganges is turbulent

it hides many sores:

bones, flowers, oil lamps.

 

An old civilization

becoming an outcast, slowly

crying silently.

About Author

Kinshuk Gupta

Member Since: 07 Sep, 2018

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Recent Publication
Banaras: A Civilisation
Published on: 21 Jan, 2019

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