Evening Town | Ananya S. Guha

It is raining; mists unfurl out of rainbow trees, soaked hills and mountainous blues, houses weigh under territories, the cold is steeped in comatose clothes as stalkers look away, walk away without hindrance. For long these hills have snatched disbelief in tremors, tacitly brushing odoriferous pines, skies fall out of silent winter, spring or summer. …

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Author: Best Poetry Online