By: Pijush Kanti Deb

Still enchanting
the fragrance of the naked rural soil-
playful in the rain
now captive in the odor
of burnt lime and rusted iron.
Still reverberating
the sweet tweeting of the feathered singers
in the poor ears-
over polluted and ever disturbed
by the mechanical groaning.
Still floating
the images of the smiling faces
representing their blissful hearts
on the waves of the masked faces
hiding the history of their hearts.
Still projecting
the flash back of a changed life
from simple to complex
sunk into the depth of earthly compulsion
with the hope to float up again.