Trees pass by like poetries,
Planted by different travellers
Passing on the same road.
Different words for seed learnt,
Inside homes of different tongues.

Their green guavas grow,
Like secrets between lush green leaves,
A shady home for birds to sing,
A little fruit for travellers walking in the sun.




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The meeting of breath with breath
Dandelions teased
And cotton dreams swimming in the wind
Comets with nowhere to go

The in-betweens of two languages
Sunshine turning everything black
And colonies moving within the grass
Red ants do not know where skin begins and land stops

Walking a park with lost shoes
Here and there, a little life
A vague understanding
Of movement, worms and birdsong