Poems by Manas Shukla

Before the touch of finality

a poem by

Manas Shukla

Its that time of year,
the sun is soft,
mild to touch.
The buildings seem to be
rotting
basking in pale light
and mildew.
Familiar breezes
blow around corners.
and I can smell an autumn dream again.
The same cold wind,
it seems the sun,
will neither die,
nor rage,
like and undecided balance,
a moment of serenic peace,
before the touch of finality,
threatening to fall either way.
Today brings a beginning,
or a beautiful end.

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