A Poem from the Book:
“Through the Window of Taj Mahal” ( a book of 30 poems)
For how long
Your stretched hands will continue
To invite the Sun
Into the cold of your heart?
Tell your feet
To pick up the first blossoms
From the divine bosom of the Earth.
The Wandering starsHave emigrated
From the River of Illumination in the East
To the Coast of Trade in the West,
And now disbelief is a wanton breeze
That roams through every street.
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