The lonely sound
of the leaves rustling
in the slow breeze
before they’re a carpet
of auburn, gold, and dirt
fills the air,
as the spry street
rests for the night.

This fiery road
of flammable sheets
where laughter resounds
and hearts beat,
echoes in the heat
of nine thousand souls
walking to and fro
nine thousand times.

Troubled eyes,
mirthful smiles alike
amble down this road
in groups of twenty, two, and one.

The leaves fall down
like the many dreams
of the people who walk
but the road screams
to keep on living,
to not give up hope,
to keep on going
up and down these slopes,
to keep on walking
head held high
like our mothers would tell us
when we were five,
too young to know
what our actions meant,
that roads have meaning
for every climb and descent.

October, and almost home
as the year wanes in fiery red
and dull browns,
as do the many unions
budding here in pale green.

Natasha Kumar and Manu J Naik

Image Courtesy : Arvind Krishnan and Manan Dhuri


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