Sonal Singh On Sonal's Table
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Halt the flight of the raging wind
Let it howl, moan but in confines.
Under the grey skies, leave me be
My frail and battered body pleads.
The heavens have mercy, I entreat
I am old and alone, do have a care.
Allow me to go forage for my food
I have to persist, I have to subsist.
The grey skies mirror my dark life
That has endured so much, sadly.
Is it time to go meet my maker?
That I wonder; and if yes then
I will come now to lie down
And to rest for one final time.
Image – Carolina Heza via unsplash
