The pungent alley smells
The chai glass clinks
foggy with remnants of condensed milk
orange wind, the point to which vision clouds
Should traffic dissipate like crows
Should crows be harassed by stray dogs
barking away their homeless shadows
orange wind should exhale the answers
Where tides swallow roads to pilgrimage
Where smoke return to
lungs that cradle a dampened heart
orange wind, where the questions start
with an answer
No comments:
Post a Comment