ANCIENT EGYPTIANS, MODERN POETS
Uday Shankar Durjay A beautiful walk under the wooden garden In the absence of extraordinary beauty, I have been waiting for a brand new summer. Nature must be more natural and more charming than any one’s expected. A significantly long wait was hanging in my note pad, believe so, summer will knock me out promptly. Windows are open, the doorbell activated, close circuit cameras keep watching around. I accept wind will listen to the whispering of the branches that leaning on each other. Cheerful breezes will make a wave in the hearts of trees. I just have been waiting to capture them. I would see her shadow left behind, some maple leaves blown over it to absorb fragrances. I would have a beautiful walk under the wooden garden. Sunlight will change its name to flashlight; the ray of lights is not the lights; they are bows of sun, just falling in the ground. Might be there is a river inside me to take a divine drive to Ocean from this forest. I won’t let it be finishing so soon. Once summer vanished, I would hear the whispering of the branches of trees. My stunning eyes get stuck to the brightness of the leaves where the sun painted green on them. Quivering leaves are knocking behind me; summer will go soon. Leaves will go off quicker.
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Lea Bridge Road Leyton, London 07/09/2020 7.30pm The Silk Road Literature Anthology
