Days merge into shadows
nights into days
years form/unfold/fold up
dusted narratives, ordinary tales
and --- finally swept away by the that bent figure
cleaning the sands of time
of all footprints --- in a relentless drive
like autumnal leaves
dried, veined, trembling
then --- detached cruelly
by a gust of wind
in a vale
where voices of the moments
buried with fallen leaves
and return eerily
--- a wailing sound that unnerves
the loud picnickers
listening to hip-hop, reggae or Dylan Thomas
on the Japanese stereos, in Indian cars.
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