Under the denuded
chinars, I stand
again, waiting for you.
The hawks were
pining, for a prey―
in morning prayers.
The chrysanthemums
stand in a row―
opening their hands.
Sometimes you
trace the plum scent
coming from lover's grave.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: April 18th, 2019 19:43
- Category: Nature
- Views: 26
- Users favorite of this poem: Laura🌻, Sunshinefalling.
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Comments1
The imagery of your penned words is stupendous!
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