The Nest
The nest
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It rained before her bedtime
followed by another damp splash.
The gale which preceded the rain
had left a few trees reclining
like a meditated holy man
and the petals of flowers spilled
like blood.
She sets her feet; they are embraced by grass.
Still the taste of coffee lingers
in her molar. She licks the teeth,
an indolent sadness prevails
her washed mind; benumbed she looks
at the nest, broken, scattered.
It reminds her of the last week. Dark.
Meetings with marriage counselor.
=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar
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