Adaption - Poem by Hardik Vaidya
It's early morning.
The mist comes rolling.
She engulfs, embraces, smothers.
The high rises of Worli snuggle and whisper.
The blue of the sea, Colors their being,
Clouds shapeless hug their ceiling.
Love is made, wanton, in open, and free.
The sky misses the mountains,
Accepts concrete in lieu of their need.
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