Treasure Island

subhadip bhattacharya


The Restaurant


Glasses wiped, plated stacked.
The last guest has left early
and it is only ten thirty.


I slowly walk out of the restaurant,
tale a stroll and
end up in a park.
I sit on a bench
beside the tree.

Slowly I fell relaxed as if
all day like strings of a musical instrument
I have played and now I let loose.

Slowly
as if by some
unhindered force
shoots, branches, leaves
come out of me.

Submitted: Thursday, February 20, 2014

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