A Puff Of The Season Poem by Piyush Dey

It was a puff of the season
that shook the portrait on the wall
that hung so listlessly,
In the days of yore,
the walls weren't so moist
Who knows why the moistness crept in
Don't know why the cracks came
And the moistness shows
Like the tears on a face so blank.

Why the breaths of the air are so
innocent and calm now?

This rain used to sing
on the rooftops and-
write on the windowpanes,
sweet nothings with its tiny fingertips,

Alas! it weeps away behind a cage now
And the afternoons are so
Like a chess without the pieces
There's no one to play, just no one.
Neither the day breaks,
nor the night comes
everything seems still.

Perhaps it was a puff of the season
That shook the portrait on this wall.