THE TRYST

Streets are empty with glowing street lights,
alleys covered with mist, foggy wind passes by,
yearning for the soul. The old man stands
atop the rocky wall....
Noah's Ark lies beneath his feet. Shimmering
day and lenient night walk side by side;
effervescence of solitude gathers upon. The
epoch making tryst, the ploughing of the field
proliferates the bliss.

This is dedicated to my friend Sayandeep Kundu.