Gorvachove, Keonjhar, 15 July 2024
The rain falls persistently on my roof,
And on this road empty of travelers.
I am in love with this torrential rain,
And the bold wind knocking on my window.
It comes from dark forests and haunted woods,
Still carrying the scent of Rhododendrons.
All day I have heard the phantom footsteps,
The creaking of the gate, the falling leaves,
The rain tapping softly on my window pane:
No one has come, and now dusk has arrived–
With the returning birds, the falling dew;
And the long unbroken hours of darkness.
To be alone sometimes is perhaps good.
To stay up late, till sleep comes wandering:
To seek out the books you have wanted to read,
To write letters to those you wanted to reach.
Perhaps I shall find a poem lurking–
In the patterns of stars in the night sky.
In the mountains, loneliness grows on you,
You hear things lost in the babble of crowds.
To be alone is to remember things…
Old faces, friends, and places you left behind.
To be alone, sometimes, is to find answers,
To life’s beautiful, unanswerable questions.
