Sunday, December 20, 2015

Ananya S. Guha- A Poem

fallen leaves crumpled
bristling as if with life
only dead are leaves
breathing into outer space
their crispy, rasping voice
hoarse, and when trampled
they live
voices trample
voices catch them
web of life and death
tangled to see prismatic future
yet they live
man tramples( upon them)

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