On ripening of time, lush shrubs lipping ochre bark of perennials have vanished in the thin air. Perhaps somewhere biding their time, anticipating the frolicsome squelch of little galoshes during salubrious times. Leaves ranging from golden amber to tawny and deep brown colours have embarked on their next journey, ceding to the mystical inner quest. What lies ahead of quietus? Apparently, this old fogey perching morosely on top of the bench is ruminating over life’s perfidy. Solitary, brittle and adamantly unmoving.
Smita Ray is the mother of two lovely kids and hails from northeastern India. Her perpetual displeasure arising from the hypocrisy in the society underneath the semblance of religion, culture as well as the conditioning for compliance urged her to put down the impressions in her mind. In her spare time, she likes to have some culinary adventures along with her kids trying new recipes or crafting. She describes herself as
-- a soulmate, a life alighted on the earth catching the rhythm passing by her. A tinge of joy colours her world and lays its feet on the land where revellers are awaiting her to get into the groove.
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7 thoughts on “parched air”
Amazing, brilliantly penned. The picture, perfect, depicting old age, lost and forgotten. I must admit, I had to look up some words in the dictionary.
Amazing, brilliantly penned. The picture, perfect, depicting old age, lost and forgotten. I must admit, I had to look up some words in the dictionary.
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Brilliant haibun and stunning imagery! Wow, the last line of your prose is superb and well as your chosen image. All goes together perfectly.
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Humbled. Thank you so much, Eugenia. 🌻Maybe the leaf has no idea where to move.
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My pleasure! Sometimes, I feel like that leaf.
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We do. And then we fly by the seat of our pants. 👋
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