A promenade with no ends,
near the sea with no beginnings.
We could just have walked and walked
but the reverberations
from the salt-laden winds
convolved into a imputes purpose
of touching the crimson light softly
while caressing its voiceless moans.
The tongue relished upon its silence,
while the soul warmed its sumptuous flesh.
We embraced the blood spilt sky,
like a stranger
who makes love
to his vehement past
with eyes closed.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
2 thoughts on “A Stranger’s Past”
What a beautiful poem
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