This Sequence Poem by Ajit Das

The long afternoon inches away,
measuring as though its own hollowness.

Grammar of life punctuates this phase
at the most unswervable turn of the road
where terminate the concord days
in drooping moments.

Life flows on the same as before;
those familiar sights, sounds, colours
confuse me into a belief:
I am still a part of it.

But something is lost irretrievably;
what I see is not me,
my shadow lengthening.

Outside, the sunset draws a curtain
of smoke and dust on the fading landscape.
A strange calmness descends,
but brings no comfort.
It only sedates the inner turbulence.