Poem by Ananya S. Guha



And then the roads while gathering dust
pick up granules of past. Little specks.
Only wayward street children understand
these particles of dust, and they can
smother faces into an ugly smog.
Or how the dust can be thrown at faces
as muck. Children are sufficient enough
to understand storms that take place
on highways, and withered streets- moribund
houses or in down town play time.

Adults hold the storm with a little
finger and suck dreams. They are
measured by what they do not see
but what they think they faintly understand
including repositories of their bodies.


Photography © Steve Warren

Photography © Steve Warren


Ananya S. Guha lives in Shillong in North East India. His poems have been published world wide and he has been writing and publishing poetry for the last thirty years.

Steve Warren’s interests are in the healing arts, poetry, photography, dance, the nutritional arts and much more. He is a peer specialist in the recovery movement.


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