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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