Curls of dark hair play with my feet,
flowing like springs of silk and satin,
or is it just the window-curtain
disguised in its sunset silhoutte,
floating over me like a forgotten spirit
that has come back for one last rendezvous.
Hovering over, close enough
for one last touch of
its yet tangible body.
Hovering over, close enough
for one last look at its mortal companion.
Hovering over, close enough
to lay down, the leaves of eternal autumn . . .
Written By: Bibhudutta Choudhury
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