Beneath Sky of Saffron

Some look like mangled stars

others simply appear discoloured

while Ganga takes on human form for love

teak trees persist in letting go of dusty leaves

another creak of a rusty swing jars peace

thoughts meander around one sentence

absorbed from a recently devoured book

the human spirit survives by selective forgetting

I am not convinced by this but allow the notion

to flow through a painful tide within

as another star drifts in the wind

refusing to shine

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