Some days it’s the silence
that speaks, tells us
what say the leaves in wind,
tells us how it slips the rain by willows.
If asked in silence, holding hearts;
as the sun still is there,
Shining in the Autumn sky, fresh and blue;
To tell how eyes are crying dew.
Your unrest makes me think.
Birds of passage that bump
into lighthouses in stormy nights.
A storm is also your sweetness,
turbine and does not appear,
and the rest are even rarer.
~~~Ch Navakanta Mishra
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