Distance by Sreekanth Kopuri

Sometimes when the

longing wind of impulses

is high on the hand till

it is nightfall and the


luminescent fireflies

in the blood search

for the words

circling around the

vast dark spaces

between the moments

in my diary 


the distance between

the letters spreads

into a blank page

where the moments fall

in black and white

like the passing clouds.


The ash of time

then becomes a memory.

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