Poems and Poetry

Wooden Homes | A Poem by Ananya S. Guha

Husks in trees
winter is short
of those fruits
lying in labyrinth
roads and dusty
shops, I waver
in this net of time
radiate in flow
then the afterglow
of the sun, mists unfurling
trees, restaurants in noise
weather gloves, woolens
caps, tea served will gesture
to the winter
warm and serve
me in old wooden homes.



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