Myth of Harvest

by Srijani Dutta

The female ones tiptoed to the forest

To unburden the agonies of daily wages,

Instead they heard the cries of the dead;

Wind carried the leaves from the old tree

And placed around the yellow swamp

At the backyard of a lady’s hut;

They went there to listen 

To the music of the earth 

And count fireflies like the fate lines of palms

In the dark autumn night,

Eyes stumbled out 

Reminding themselves 

Of their origins and history

As their eyes came across 

None 

But Persephone.