Father Time

Days merge into shadows
nights into days

serially ...

years form/unfold/fold up
dusted narratives, ordinary tales
picked up
lost

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
and lost

in a vale
where voices of the moments
buried with fallen leaves

echo
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.