The Waiting Arch Poem by Procyon Mukherjee

Whatever you are, you are not
My childhood among the yellow flowery lanes
Long afternoons and sleepy slow evening
Mostly silent walks that meant nothing
No rhapsodies, nor the C Sharp Minor
Lingering among the ripples of listless chords

I am just about to leave
Losing my way, my game, my friends
Or is it just that there is nothing like winning
Among the stack, that which is high now
Will stoop to rise
Sharing and giving and losing gently

You are that waiting arch of innocence
That which opens into the garden
Of green softness, straws of leaves, blades grazing where
Some drops have dried, almost the scent of a loss
Like the approaching spring, unwinding