A Poem of Contrary Natures
Like the bright hair
uplifted from the head
Like the sharpened teeth of
a wild thing
Like the lioness and her
cubs in the great grassland
The shield of your
shoulders is hard as an eggshell,
A froth of blood feathers
your lips.
I am not a poet. I have never been a poet.
I will never be a poet.
And yet
Like the bright hair
uplifted from the head
That needs a proper ending.
____ AKSHR
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