The Gone by Amit Parmessur
by Amit Parmessur
January afternoon after school
Grandmother sick at heart
Rain splashing and ringing like
blood-stained bullets on ground
Grandmother?s blinking eye seeing doom
Her words to me ?
grass to a hungry lion
Grandfather, lately, just a
snowflake in her haggard hands!
To grow three oak trees in farthest desert
He once promised her
Countless grogs swinging in stomach
Neck gets broken in a drumstick tree
Now, whenever the rain falls, it hits the
sill like the coin he gave me
when I was about ten and quite dumb
Amit Parmessur lives with his black cat and two cute dogs nowadays. Since 2010, his poems have appeared in over a hundred literary magazines, like Ann Arbor Review, Salt, Hobo Camp Review and Red Fez. His book on blog Lord Shiva and other poems has also been published by The Camel Saloon. Born in 1983, he was nominated for the 2011 Pushcart Award and lives in Quatre-Bornes, Mauritius.