Summer
The metaphor of
great love falls from
a two-way kiss,
warming the coldness
of time, passing, unnoticed
by the aged rocks
lying, sacredly,
on naked island, where
tares stoop
upon flowers, sharing
un-scented hisses,
no one hears, but
the sky, the birds,
the sea, the water
and every li’l thing on it,
certainly, feel the silent
commotion of minds, giving
death no space…
to speak in its tongue.
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