THE RHYTHM OF THE BUTTERFLY Contemporary Poetry Anthology by Santosh Kumar Biswa
Call the Dove Over the meadow, I wondered to claim Defeated within, thwarted and baffled in mind Out of thin air a dust leaf ran over the cheek, Kissing gently to pull my mind beatifically. Pursuing to see it, glanced I, at a lily so bonny, Like a naturalist as if to draw me in its beauty. Forthwith my mind floated like waves into it, My eyes as an usher to feel other of its kinds And pleasantly did it surmount the sorrow I had. Alas! I saw an unusual wood lying beneath. Gawkily, I dragged my eyes for a tighter look. It started with a plea in melancholy to deal. Among many, it was once the dauntless. It kept me spellbound, tears wheeled down, Black bile resurrected in me back to initial, Like in the land of Xanadu, Coleridge versed. I hit a willow, my shelter, then to be eroded, Besides me, the genus Salix for a troupe.
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