Acacias

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
Only to be lost in an acacia’s blue.

My highway is unending acacias,
Green under the breathless blue.

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About nisheedhi

Retired banker with poetry and photography as chief interests
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