Syzygy

The texture is
Of fine granules
As when two boulders
Get displaced

Ah, the way it blinds vision
The way it settles
All over the body
And on those around

Thought
Disjointed into words
Words pounded into
Fine granules
Blown away
By the slightest
Ripple of wind!

poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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