We spoke all our recent dialogues nicely
Voicing apprehension of the big change.
Our struggle had continued underneath.
It was a monotone speech in a gray sky
When the line of trees came to a freeze
In their hostility, where they stood tall.
The trees sniffed autumn and looked away.
Emaciated street dogs barked incessantly,
At hooded strangers coming at us from hills
From the edge of the sky, in clouds of dust.
Our dialogues went on in our dark robes
As our culture bristled riskily in our back,
The culture of reality, in our failed hearts
Where several realities came up together
Not as a single earth-reality in silk thread
But a failed reality of a fluid mind-state
A sky of treeless vapour, sea of flake-salt.