Acacias on the highway

Acacias stand just short of a blue,
Handy eats for the passing goats.
They harbor a plastic bag or two.

Self-portrait sees me misty-eyed,
On string cot in roadside tea stall
Just to be lost in an acacia’s blue.

The highway is unending acacias,
Always standing short of blue sky,
A green under its breathless blue.


About nisheedhi

Retired banker with poetry and photography as chief interests
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