A Wisteria now gnarled

At the edge in a small favela,
a maculate shelf with unclean tomes
you knew that there was no redemption
in that machine gun, gaudy, bland town,
and so you moved to the Elysian
Sierra with its minty peaks and
breeze that enlivens and white-rose sky
and there you knew true beauty, stillness,
but only for a day, a short time
and now you wish to rest again, sleep
but sadly walk afresh on the stain
at the edge in a small favela.

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2017)

Protected by Copyscape

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