The Dry Gargoyle

The bulky mass of stone with its
Unfurled wings, the tongue lolling
Out of the mouth formed the gargoyle.
And its eyes were still in gaze.
And its hands were curled on nothing
That remained - but a hope. The
Water-weathered tongue's unweathered
Hope for rains, not that will be -
Ah! me bemoan - but for the rains
That have been, that have long been.

Copyright, Shankar Saha.
All rights reserved by author.