nayna

United States of America

hope

October 20, 2018

FREE WRITING

1
For eyes once cups of cold monsoons
His warmth is a burning blanket
Of a thousand Indian suns

Upon the barren terrain of hardened knuckles
His satin hands flow as rapid creeks

From a head once a mound of mourning
His words raise a hill of hope

Print

See History
  • October 20, 2018 - 8:56pm (Now Viewing)

Login or Signup to provide a comment.