Change
I wither with passing of day
not in shape or size
but in the mind.
That anatomy lessens
mitigates a disbelief, or is it
belief;
outside things change.
Shops sprout and whimper
of dogs adds to the cacaphony.
Too many things at a time.
This is change, progress.
The weather too changes,
moody, spellbound, otiose.
Flippant observations.
We wait for a final metamorphosis.
ANANYA S. GUHA lives in Shillong, a beautiful hill station, nestled among hills, forests and pine trees. His poems in English have been published in both print and online, in India and overseas.
