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by Gowri Bhargav


Piled up are the plates, stained with dried up sauces,

The edges and crumbs of the savored bread are scattered hither-thither,

Tarnished are the glasses with finger prints and lipstick marks,

Lopsided seems the tablecloth smeared with spilled gravies,

Streamers hang loose –a few half broken and a few others flirt with the winds of death,

Buoyant balloons slowly deflate and shrink in oblivion,

String lights flicker intermittently drawing in all their remnant strength,

Muted are the chairs and tables in complete disarray,

The party’s over, everyone rejoiced and left unmindful about the skewed settings…

Perhaps well-aware they are that, all things bright and beautiful,

Will eventually fade and cease in the ruthless hands of time.

Hark! ‘Tis the wheel that dictates and nothing lasts forever.


Picture Credit: Bing

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