I dream,
Of a wasteland,
Of scattered mesas,
Blackened to white.

A landscape charred,
To a dust fine,
A palate of grays,
Blown adrift, aflight.

There are here yet,
Diamonds in the dust,
And hidden in the shadows,
Cane amidst the dirt.

Sour fruit fresh palate,
This bitter a nectar,
Never had I tasted,
The sugar amidst the ashes.

*** Cover art by Nik Shuliahin on Unsplash.

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POETRY | Gone by John Prabakaran Solomon

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