The curls on the sky
Split into lotus and
Pistachio tint
Blooms on
My palette
That has no paint-
To dip,
To revive
My ageing leaves,
Driving in dreams
To and fro-
An imaginary swing.
I’m holding my paintbrush-
Firmly, intimately
To fill, to erase-
My thirsty canvas
To get moist
By the autumn twilight.
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Monobina Nath
Picture Nick Victor
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