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Terminal Gate
Frightening silence pervaded
Swelling of ground due to mounds here and there
A tree adjacent the gate with a GHOSTLY stature
Unfurling a dark blanket by its broad canopy
Even birds don’t like to perch in the GODFORSAKEN place.
Except the bulging- eyed owl
A silent witness for GRIEF-STRICKEN hearts
The fibre art of GOSSAMER aglow in the sunlight
Floating gently like sailcloth
On the gates, they’re like murals of pinwheel flowers.
No gusts or downpours can annihilate it.
The gates are half-shut.
When they are fully opened,
Macabre music of GROANING erupts from the coarsened hinges.
Scent of geosmin from a freshly dug GRAVE
The tired soul along with the retired corpse
Comes again through the terminal gate.
Copyright ©
Patri Venkata Ramana
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