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Guilt sits cozily between them-
he the one with sun-stained cheeks
and forehead furrowed
and she, with eyes full of arctic winter

Wind, a de-winged bird
dying once after every helpless hop-skipping
and the moon, more penumbral
than real (call it the curse of you moon-marred men)

all that's green has gone on hibernation

only monotony of concrete prevails

-punyasloka