Sit on the porch, Normandy moors
of dried flowers with no fragrance,
did they ever bloom
in silent fields and wooded shades.
Plateau yield overgrown grass,
Stand there; Eyes stride across the end,
Clear skies and shimmering stars,
Green giant stands at the horizon
It waits for you, it grows old.
Now concrete windows and walls.
Love burdened songs, day by day
miss sunshine stretched afar,
Illuminating breezy fields,
I smell the flowers from my memory.
It fades, coming undone
Recollect countless evenings on the porch,
Void of lovers and maternal touch,
draw its painting, then bury the vision of the stretch,
Walk in it for a while, Summer of death.
Aishwarya Khale has studied creative writing at Exeter College, University of Oxford,
and volunteers with different NGO’s in association with the United Nations. She is a member of the
Screenwriters Association in Mumbai and contributing writer for ALMA MAGAZINE.