• tamanna3 9w

    ᴅᴀᴡɴ ᴏғ sᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ


    before it dawned on my visual field
    you were gone
    like a ghost in the wind
    now the air is stale
    and speaks a foreign dialect.
    my mind picks up
    the last few signposts of summer,
    waiting like angels of transition-
    one eye verdant,
    another blood red.
    maybe this evening is possessed
    or maybe I'm seeing things
    or maybe, just maybe
    the world is racing too fast.
    two hours past
    the end of this summer,
    my arms are frozen from
    your transparent embrace.
    two swollen orbs
    traverse the skyline,
    searching for a rebirth of dawn,
    when electric poles cast
    longitudinal shadows
    on the thermodynamic sand,
    but farewells last longer
    than wordless prayers.
    nightmares tiptoe around
    the borders of my town
    and monsters creep downstairs
    from their highland houses-
    battles resume in the wind,
    muffled voices hint
    at silent prayers,
    a sigh a door,
    a plagiarised speech on screen,
    two bottles of champagne-
    one underneath a bed,
    another in bits claiming a quietus.
    thousand soldiers on road,
    and three battles curtailed at home.
    in a world where winter lasts forever,
    orphans of life still peep
    through windows,
    a prayer in their gazes
    knocks on summer's door.

    a sunset a day,
    two battles a night.
    someday there'll be a dawn
    without martyrs of
    a quotidian summer dissolving
    with hopes on the shore.


    ©tamanna3

    #myth

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