SUDIPA PALIT


Acimon's Grief

The dim light of the closing day,
Through its own on the ocean,
Through the leaves of the stirring trees,
Filter and reach the washed rocks
Over which her silhouette.
The dreary forest engulfed again,
In the myriad colours of the night.
The scent of grapes and figs
Mould in the rosy scent of her breath;

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