An April Gray Morning


The Sunday morning is silhoutte-gray

Sun is under the veil of heavy clouds

A tender breeze is blowing, s’times it’s a gust

What is truth I ask self, as I light my day’s first cigarette,                      

Me, this silhoutte-gray morning and the bread crumbs

Scattered for the pigeons, crows, sparrows to feed on…

Or

Me, this silhoutte-gray morning and the ghost

Of  some hazed cloudy morning…

Or

Me, this silhoutte-gray morning and the neighbor girl 

With brush in her mouth looking at the dotted trafficed road

Or

Me, this silhoutte-gray morning and the smoke around me…


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Author: Sangbad

A published poet. Avid Reader. Favorite authors (few) are Satyajit Ray, Saradindu Bandyopadhyay, Bankim Ch. Chatterjee, Jhumpa Lahiri, O. Henry, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, etc. Music lovers. Love to hear Rabrinda Sangeet, Anjan Dutt, Enrique Iglesias, Mozart & Beethoven (though can't say which is who's symphony). Dislike to get clicked. Love to be self (introvert).

9 thoughts on “An April Gray Morning”

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