Nira’s Tale Of Love Iii Poem by Tuna Biswal

Nira’s Tale of Love III

Incestuous humanity favoured Her,
Born poor of grace and sober.

Shaking leaves hanging fruits and unearthed root;
Face of an ecstasy makes Her moot.

Mirrored in water; even moon mourned in night,
Her wet busy hairs lazily set a fright.


Shinning fading ripples of memory,
Forged Her swimming to bank unseen.

Her low brow shone like a lost pearl;
Neither I nor you can touch Her curl.