Alien
P Pradip Chattopadhyay
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From the honks of cars and smell of fumes
I slip into a small green patch
with birds and their wafting plumes,
moments I would die to catch!
A calm that filtered the noise
let me listen to the rustling leaves,
the birds' chirping and such joys,
in their briefness the heart grieves!
As they frolic and in air dance,
I softly trudge as an alien,
one who is there perchance,
and can't for long remain!
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