The Garden Knows the Grave
written by: Siddharth Upadhyay
Achoo
Seems I have caught on to flu
A simple cold, I assume
I caught onto my hat and resumed
A simple cold was a sign of gloom
Days passed
Legs stumbled and hands fumbled
Fibble and numbed these eyes of mine
Didn’t rotate even when closed
Didn’t want to find light
Seems a lost hope
Teeth clattered
Hand went to chest to grope
A year has passed or so
The mist rules the cold floor along
Unwashed dishes and unkept chores
I stood in the garden
More like an old man’s grave’s home
I’m Siddharth from India. I write poems, often about small moments or quiet thoughts that stay with me. For me, poetry is a way to notice the details we usually pass by and try to put them into words.
Latest posts by Siddharth Upadhyay (see all)
- The Garden Knows the Grave - August 13, 2025
