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.
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