Crescent moon
Glistens on treetops
Blowing winds
Change the skies
Cloudy landscapes meet our eyes
Decanting pearl drops
Humans rise
Multiple tasks shake
Their dark ribs
As they stir
Notions of a foregone Time
While the war bells chime
The ground spills
Red waters that slide
They know not
Colours’ calls
Crimson landscapes cut our falls
To touch, not divide
Reading of the poem:
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