On An Idle Afternoon

On an idle afternoon, as the sun slid down the west,

There came to me a sudden thought, a thought of strange unrest.

My empty soul then filled with sorrow,

My heart with pain and longing;

Tears welled up on thought of the morrow,

My past came back a'thronging.

I saw that which once was, I must have missed it then,

I imagine seldom eyes do see that which matters when.

When time flies by and the sands of time,

Slip away with burning haste;

That fleeting moment of fortune prime,

Is now nothing but a waste.

As I glanced through the window bars at the sliver of a sky,

I could not tell when evening fell, and time once more flew by.

And from the deepest crevices of my abandoned soul,

From unfathomed depths I knew not;

There came back to me an image whole,

Of that I once forgot.

                                                                 Parijat Mukherjee.

                                                                                                     

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