October

How would I really grow old?
Grow a beard, wrinkles
under my bright blue eyes
and a week-long stubble
across my sad chin
of yonder years.

How would I really grow old
as the skies here in Calcutta
ridicule my envy, my rage
impotent like the clouds
here in Calcutta,
my beloved, that don’t burst
but smear sorrow
along the city highways

How would I really grow old
among my rains, my sunshine
and my bleak winter cold?

Prasenjit Maiti