Sravani Saha
2 min readSep 21, 2021

A dull fog ambled down on wet soil
bubbling with hot carmine from my soul
It hung upon the air, like a dead leaf,
refusing to part with the branch.
Was it not the last shower of the season,
the last touch, the last whispers of love?
A fog from the last moments of release,
a breath held, and lost.

I hid behind this fog, my thoughts
suspended; I watched as life walked back
to where it all began. No traces left,
no grudges held, I saw this boy.
He jumped, he sprinted, he smelled a yellow
daisy. He kept little petals in little hands
cupped and safe from a bellowing wind.
A little slice of life saved.

Trees bared for a score, trees flowered
for another. Paths strewn with purples
and scarlets, and a bold cerulean
ruled. I peered, and found him.
Sitting on a ledge, his palms curled tight
he held a flower, aged crisp and brown,
but hidden under death lived a tiny
green. A hope. A life.



Sravani Saha

Author of ‘Yes, The Eggplant is A Chicken’ Humorist, Satirist, Mom, Ex-Googler. Write to me at