Poem 3 by Ananya S Guha

Why do these hills waver
when Christmas
walks across them
and oranges ripen
Get the ones from Cherra
I say, the baskets over ripe
as bystander haggles
I haggle with winter
it’s pristine charm
foreboding weather
run down memories
compelling me to wear
coats of dust, hidden
dreams, mufflers stained
with marks of wine
I drank on evenings
of pleasure.
Little ones ripple with laughter
Crows caw, caw
my mind sinks into horizons
of a hill town which I ask
to love,
Me.

ananya-s-guha
Ananya S Guha ( 1957) lives in Shillong, in North East India. He has been writing poetry and publishing his poems over thirty years.
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