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Jan 6
A rickety iron bridge
worn out by time,
roofless, look up
to an intriguing sky.

My spirit leaped out,
a meteor shower, along
with the blue moon and stars;
it looked down at me.

Epiphany, not a dead one
ferns sprout from cracked walls –
mute spectators to life.

The raintree standing on the right
homeless, dipping its leaves
into the stream,
meanders through me,
the moss-covered bridge –
transient. It was my place, ours,
yours and mine. Homeless.
mamta madhavan
Written by
mamta madhavan  F
     Terence Chinnery and Kvothe
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