Swan Song
The toppled gravestones,
I still count the heads.
I will go with your swan song,
the bond erupts.
You were always sitting under the
bougainvillea, waiting for the swallow.
The next door summer arrives;
Why did you say, it was biting cold?
The door shuts on the moon.
It was obviously very dark,
and I was searching the space
between ’yes’ and ‘no’.
poem by Satish Verma
Added by Poetry Lover
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