#056

summer will not set in this year
because you’re gone, and
because you’re gone,
the trees don’t wear new leaves;
no buds, birds color the slate above,
everywhere the muteness chokes, and
I curl closer to myself,
bruise my heart with
hope and despair alike,
slowly losing count of time, and
you’re gone like the twinkle of my eyes
gone so far that it will never be light again.

©Mohana Das

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