Deadpan. Far off an
explosion. First a lull, then
rises cicadas shrill.
You release paper―
lamps into the river. One for
black rose in the book.
Blue birds, will they come
again in my lonely patch
of abandoned home?
Missed beats will not
appear to pick up the pause,
between absent words.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: December 12th, 2019 20:27
- Category: Nature
- Views: 17
Offline)
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