There is at every alley
a twist. Then a turn.
The alley leads to a house
( not a home).
Cats purr, dogs bark
and men and women
push shovels, decaying
remains of a foreboding truth.
The one they know so well.
Now, it is vapid, wan and
a trifle insignificant
to their singeing, hollow lives.
The alleys continue to twist
and turn, like a game of gnomes
Collapsing into the wind’s fury.
There are houses.
But there are no homes.
Like a pack of cards, King, Queen, Jester
the houses collapse like a two frog being.
This is the story of men and women
in a country, where there are houses.
But- no homes.
Poet’s Bio: Ananya S Guha lives in Shillong and works in The Indira Gandhi National Open University. He holds a doctoral degree on the novels of William Golding. His poems in English have been published in both print and online, in India and abroad.
Illustration by Alan Van Every (Featured image on the front page)