Poetry

Daniel B. Ranee

By

Ananya S Guha

At Least You Live

Mother the first hyacinths appeared

in garden of death

the hirsute dog lay

in the winter’s scaffolding sun

hit by the erring bus driver

I saw your pallid ghost in the same

house, as they carried your hearse

over shoulders of  your death

unseemly ghosts appeared

and father in the house leased

by a British woman

at night those knocks

hard, stead fast

ghosts roam mother

in that house

though there are many living

the dog buried in the mud

of plum and peach trees

the sauntering wind lashing

the house pale faced, yellow

as it moves towards catacombs

of a hinterland

buried deep.

Forget the others, Mother

At least you live.

Ananya S Guha

Ananya S Guha was born and brought up in Shillong, North East India. He has seven collections of poetry and his poems have been published worldwide. They have also been featured in several anthologies. He is also a columnist, critic and editor. He now is a Regional Director at the Indira Gandhi National Open University and holds a doctoral degree on the novels of William Golding.