Representational Image | Courtesy: Rana Sawalha, Unsplash

A Short Letter To The Man Of Words

October 16, 2022

Your tears mothered rare blooms

Your sword is a call for peace


My lips are a tomb

As I await


Somewhere in Lucknow

We are old in a decrepit house

There is moon dust in your hair

Your words are a melodic chant

Your eyes zephyr-like


Nocturnal birds call out

The pensive wind whispers your name


As I hear the door shut

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