By Siddhartha Sankar Sarmah
I knew what kicked off the dust storm
at the far end of the road at nine.
The bus to Gauripur was slowly on its way.
And I moved closer to my brown suitcase.
The surrounding did not look tragic as I thought.
No one around looked familiar though.
Strange, for I lived here so long.
I climbed into the bus
with years neatly packed
in my brown suitcase
and pushed it underneath my seat.
Adjusted my back like a strained hypotenuse,
forced a smile at the curious boy sitting close,
and tried to inhale the sounds and the smells once more.
Did I expect someone
to bid goodbye,
perhaps to reason why?
Actually, leaving is not difficult,
if you can delete your years and months from the calendar
and choose the right luggage for company.
If it is Gauripur you are destined,
the bus leaves at half past nine.