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Green: A plucked flower of irreparable loss.

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬. The goblet of the invisible moon took water from it and made a strong kattan tea, while the smell of spice and steam from the trunks of the idukki dew mountains rose. Innocuous breeze melts in oleaginous gypsy soul pots of lakkam waterfalls. Green bearded trees are welcoming the butterscotch clouds to hug the never ending odyssey. One can only hear their naked breath talking to the vast palace of the skies. The gentleness of rain brings free kulfi hailstones from cumulonimbus palanquin. 

𝐓he queen without a crown is echoing from the other side when mattupetty repairing her guitar strings borrowed from the webs of weaving spiders. The drops of water hanging in the leaf blades cwtch the auburn soil to hold the kiss for longer. Feel the harbinger of hope without a blanket in the chilling air venting out through the hill station. The ephimeral sunset is ready to accept your ochre sky of emotional doldrums. The mind should change here like pottery instead of broken glasses. 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞. Why are we so late to realize that wild vines that spread across the legs are better than ropes around the neck? 

𝐓he nature should be an indestructible temple. A worship place to experience the sound of birds, animals, leaves, flowers, rivers and the eternal rain. Does these contraction and relaxation of diaphragm being in love with the viridescent intervals of heartbeats before our specks of dust become airborne? 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥..𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞. 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐨𝐩𝐚𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐬?

There is a forest in the mountains away from the land of cannibals. There, I have an autumn girl and a tree to drop the greens on. O’ the magpie robins swinging on the golden banynan leaves, Did you know? Today, there are no dark violet butterfly flowers to seduce. The nights giggles like olent jasmines in the orbal LEDs. A festoon of light cruise over the serpentine petals. Is this shadow or bones? The crows get startled. A nest of macow fronds in the green periwinkles. A firewood cabin was made, slitting the throat of mango tree. Did the quench lost for you when hornbill rain crooning in woebegone? If I was born as termites in a mud hut, I might be able to help you always. Sati, you will not be reduced to ashes by the fire burning in the piles. Let the dead streams of eyes flow like your perennial rivers.


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