Lines

A few red spots turn lines as a sun dies.
They are on blue sky flying southwards.

Birds are white spots under fingernails.
Fingers flutter wings to call birds down.

Tiny red spots disappear from dusk sky
And the body turns to sky at a soft dusk

And azure, beyond a brown rock of lake.
The lake swirls around the birdless rock

And the rock swirls around birdless sky
Birds turned fingers fluttering as wings

Calling other birds down from dusk sky.
Birds are now white spots, v’s on canvas

May be lines from white spots in fingers.
Sky is a line joining white spots of birds.

The rock is a line living in the lake’s line .
Sky is fine line living above a lake’s line.

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About nisheedhi

Retired banker with poetry and photography as chief interests
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