Poems
THEME/S
"The trees grow dangerous at eight"—
The gloomy branches drop
Their pointing: paths the eye knew straight
Suddenly stop.
O trust no tree in the moon—
Great arms will tear
Your heart and make its tiny tune
Spread everywhere.
A dark tree looms between
Yourself and you,
And, in that gap of the unseen,
Time never flew.
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Amal Kiran
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