Waste Land
april is the blessed month, germinating
sleepy seeds out of the lucid dreams ,sprouting
green vines from the promised land climbing
hibernating creatures under the white blanket
glancing melodious channel-billed cuckoos
happy roots dancing nostalgia
lovers on the naked bridge kissing
opening rain on the wasteland
ripples in our tormented
souls ,we are rejoicing
memories of your succulent aura
aroma of the new rain ,nascent mud
surfacing wants, waves are rising
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