The rain-drop slides
off
the window-glass
onto
the potted cacti and settles
on the thorn, split in halves;
the self-same
bright bead
becomes the
salty tear in red eyes;
shed, it gets absorbed
by the black soil, turns
into a
crimson rose that again
blooms in all brilliance
on a young canvas in a
foster home overlooking
a dark gorge in a
forest, full of phantoms.
.
Sunil Sharma
Picture Nick Victor
Academic |Writer | Critic | Editor | Freelance Journalist | Reviewer | Literary InterviewerEditor: Setu: http://www.setumag.com/p/setu-home.htmlWebsite:https://sunil-sharma.com
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.