
Two Poems by Sayani Mukherjee
Touch A mahogany of lost leaden high The namesake kept it’s promise The turbulence of sea horse runner The silver disk is a little low
Touch A mahogany of lost leaden high The namesake kept it’s promise The turbulence of sea horse runner The silver disk is a little low
Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin The red summer is all withering Clear days are flying away; A stormy fog is creeping in Nights are in the slumber,
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