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Canvas

Afternoon ,the sea was calm
And mirrored  big blank sky

As in repeat pattern, in loop
Catching my vision endlessly.

The hill sat like big fish nose
Jumping for periodic breath.

A grey blank shadow striated
Against turquoise of the sea .

The sea was just vast canvas
On other side of a blankness.

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Storm is just a butterfly

After storm fear of butterfly,
In the ocean’s deepest belly,

Now is soft vermilion at sky,
In coconuts and lighthouses.

The butterfly fluttered away
To the other lands and seas.

Red dawn snuffed night off
Beginning daily sun on sea,

Already spreading crimson
On rising wave of rebellion.

Butterfly flies off up north
Upsetting carts on the way.

The trees  breath on beach
Free standing but uptight.

Dark crows in them go on
A daily business on beach.

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Still

On the beach, there is dark patch,
Like cloud’s shadow from old sun.
It is only a mineral brought by sea.

A sun is slowly sprouting from sea,
While boats float to sway on a sun
Like flowers dancing to the breeze.

Boat men were restless silhouettes.
The hands had to point something,
Before the men were lost to the sun.

The waves may have struck rocks
A second time after I walked away
Leaving dolphin’s nose hill behind.

Dolphin’s nose hill sits ,motionless,
Houses on it now becoming visible
Under cotton swab of cloud in sky.

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Getting old

Getting old is not a big thing.
The stars are getting old too.
Even  God is also getting old.

And the stars get fagged out.
They twinkle in  wrinkled sky
And none to point and count.

God has grown old and tired.
There is no one to count stars,
He has tirelessly made in sky.

There  stars glow like worms .
They flicker in the lonely sky
And no one applauds the old.

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Umbrellas

Rain falls on the wet green sea,
From an empty blue sky above.

A sea has no umbrella above it.
Being high, the sky has neither.

The green sea and an empty sky
Are drenched in white wet rain.

Rain beats down the umbrellas.
They now have to leave  bench.

The benches have no umbrellas.
They are now wet with rainfall.

Umbrellas,  folded and at home,
Are dripping with rain memory.