Nostalgia
Stubborn nostalgia
Pricks and makes my soul bloody
Like thorns of a red rose
Making so to a tender palm.
Today, the shelter-home and
The familiar street look deserted
And the cuckoo sings hoarse.
Inadequate monsoon
Gets wayward and lost
In cups of tattered foliage.
My sky, stars, clouds
And my earth shamed
And shocked by an untimely
Autumnal nudity.
poem by Arkay Drk
Added by Poetry Lover
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