A Ladishah

Wraith seasoned on cirrus,
like a rhapsody of white frills,
swinging in an apple orchard,
a pashmina shawl 
she dons on her silvery arms,
deciduous woodcarvings 
shedding blood 
in bitterly sweet valleys,
falling off maturity
even when autumn
invites spring,
curfews clotting homes,
stench gunpowder grafitti art 
sprayed in the line of control,
shikaras and willows
limping in steep gullies,
a gleaming telescope
sky-watching,
faint sounds 
heard coming from a lake,
'my moon is red
my moon is pale
my moon is battered 
ahoy religion
ahoy religion
ahoy religion
crossfires are offered
to preach thy eminence
and my prayers deafened.'

©songbriti

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