Living In A Shadow
A
Anil Kumar Panda
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I count the time for me
Every day when the first ray
Of the mild sun strikes my wall;
Pushing the blanket to the sides
I rush to the calendar
Hanging from wall and fluttering
Like a dying bird in the morning breeze;
To strike out the date; gone;
With the pen gifted by my father
When I rose taller than him
One fine morning and talked
With him in a rough voice.
It has always been like that-
Disabling the date;
That should turn into me
And hide under my bed
To trouble me when I am
Having good time in my dream
Hugging the pillow tight
To my chest and kissing the fairy.
I find the bed wet
With heat of youth;
The calendar gets thinner
With new faces adorning the wall.
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