Ruth

 

Ruth

Passing the threshold I stepped out -
The veneer of my being gathered the cold,
Hitting raw as ever.
I may never return.
The scent of ashes tended my nares;
Streets were barren,
Sunlight peeking through clouds.
My eyes fell on a boy at labor,
Trying his best to win his means.
Sweat dripping over all his frame
Agony seeping into the roots
His dusty hands and feet at work,
His rusted heart, deceptive.
I scampered ahead,
Feeling the strings erupt,
One by one like a fissure through my flesh.
Our palpable tales reach new heights,
Tinted with colors of dour and shine.
I wonder what a fable the boy would recite
I wonder what rarity the roads abide...
Can you hear the sleeping melody?
The subdued mourns of the dead?
In every corner, the salient resides,
Visionary and veiled aside.
I looked back, at a massive flare
My eyes were burning at the sight -
Burnt, black body of the little boy lay still,
Beside him rested the chain which beheld -
Me. My remains. My regret. My ruins.

Riddhi Chakraborty