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Here’s an evocative prose poem by Deeya, exclusively for Different Truths.
The bluebells in glee spring their jocund heads in the sunny scape of mind, the fleeting images of a sickle-shaped moon, weaned from the sapling sun are coquetries. Love prophesied in the over-arched poplar trees are an ode to the doleful evening when despondently I, wield my flightful sojourn against the eavesdropping bushes, growing flimsy by the surreal moon.
The sun gobbles the anaemic moon of yesternight. Vibes of the strangled sun startle the Jays out of the stupor to sing psalms. Their residual songs ease the crumbling pain inside my head. The insomniac night evocates into an exuberant day.
©Deeya Dey Bhattacharya
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