By The Riverside At Dusk

By Anustup Sengupta

The blowing conchs usher in the dusk

The day is in a transition task.

Some gentle strokes on the firmament,

Orange at the horizon, imperial topaz ornament.

At the back, there’s a rub of tourmaline,

Slowly descends the obsidian tarpaulin,

The river is in a rippling flow,

Offering the dinghies a gentle sway.

The row of lights on the bank other side,

Engaged in a continuous shimmer.

The reflection on the babbling water;

Solitude tucked in a soporiferous bonafide.

By Anustup Sengupta