What is not right
Turns proper.
It commences as a sigh
From the eluding sleep
On a peaceful dusk
And resonates
As the cry of the lonely crow
On the neem tree.
The scorching heat of the growing silhouette
Rises as the aroma
Of the drizzled earth.
What is not right,
Does turn proper
When u caress the moist toes
Painted pink just for you
And softly kiss my feet.
