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Our Island Haven

Our island haven
is wrapped
in a mantle of mist

homesick cuckoos
are bathing
in the morning dew

nothing
but the sound
of the untameable sea
surrounds
our gallant little house

a late evening haze
paints the sky
in the colour of dusk

a solitary seabird
is being tossed
on crested waves

the ceaseless roar
of the dauntless ocean
is lifting
its tentacles towards
the parting sky
and with quenchless lust
it dances
in communion
with the vivid gale

In our island haven
You and I
become
like snow flowers
blooming
in poverty


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Lina Prasad writes, “I am a freelance writer living in Chennai, India.”