We look over the hillocks
for the spread of orange red color
I do not know where it ends.
it does not matter if I
read the pulse of the rivulet
or the soul of a baul song,
the red soil for your leisurely walk
the barren land and dry leaves
make less likely to engage in,
no curtain call yet.
and for a moment between us
the early evening mist
to trust each other,
just a fall back.
a dream for seeing through
where the conflict ends
in unsung harmonies,
under a starry sky,
Imagery and emotion weaved beautifully to give a ‘WOW’ feeling to the reader….splendid write..