mist and white flowers

I sip from your sleep, before

the moon disappears

a stoned, dead Summer.

Trucks snail the road wearily

cows chew a few suns

river oh river

I have tried to escape, but

memory and ghosts…

standing on my stairs

I expect a thunderstorm

if not a blue corpse

truths are many, for

us to pass summers, only

lies for this winter.

Goirick Brahmachari lives in New Delhi, India. He hails from Silchar, Assam. His poems have appeared in North East Review, Nether, Pyrta Journal, Raedleaf Poetry, Coldnoon Quarterly and The Four Quarters Magazine.

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