By Sreekanth Kopuri
HOPE We die like great trees but the roots of memories hold deep into the earth that waits for the fresh monsoons of our dreams to sprout some hopes around. GRIEF a tear runs down the earth’s eye a sandpiper tethers along these sandy dunes of a prolonged absence here a half sunk boat dilapidated by broken dreams stinks of dead fish birds winter again and the silence of desire worms the blood before the soul’s last flight to the bleeding Sun A DESTINATION Those bruises -- time’s ashes beneath these aging feet will bring home a love beyond all our meanings; but not yet, since the ash flakes of these dreams still blur the way.
Sreekanth Kopuri is an Indian poet, Current poetry editor for The AutoEthnographer Journal Florida, Alumni Writer in Residence, and a Professor of English from Machilipatnam, India.
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