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The Green Flutterings At Arannyak

(for Muni Auntie, Shohail Uncle and Bachchu Uncle)

1.

At Arannyak, the whitest bungalow by the greenest lake,
I see every mind open up like petals of a flower
and the long-lost fragrance floods again our senses.

But we poor city-dwellers drone like machines;
it's once again we stand - plagued by doubts,

and kind of startled by a sudden feel of fears
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Thursday, April 12, 2007
Topic(s) of this poem: forest
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