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Wind Brushes by Trees | A Poem by Ananya S. Guha

Wind brushes by trees
which are a stop over to
skies pointing upwards
and hills in chorus claiming
mortality. No change, these
hills suffuse time and space
leaving a huge blank of hope.
They spill over into dreams
but when morning arrives
they change colours in shades of blue and green.
They a crescent, they the upper crust of fields that
Tremble in eternal rock climbing.


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