Zesty oranges and winter afternoons- by Payal Mukherjee

There it is.
In the white glittering skin of twisted emaciated bodies.
Hanging from silvery trees
Swaying gently in an icy breeze
Death
As it came to me in my dream that night.

And then in the cold feet of the old man
As I touched one last time unable to find
The man I knew just half a day ago.

In the life that went before it arrived
Known only by me, felt only in me
Left. And left devastation in its wake.

Death. Black Death. Absence of all light. All around me now.
Every child taken is mine
If not mine, seen through these eyes, become mine.
Cant escape anymore the swaying ashen bodies of my dream
Keep running into me whichever turn I take
Death
Following me faster than I can flee
I can feel its cold white hand almost upon my shoulder.