Posted inPoetic License

The silent river, gone deaf with old age

When Rustam strolled on the sun-soaked sandy shores, Siberian cranes, bearing cumulous clouds in their black beaks, dripped heaven’s dew – his hair was flecked with golden hues. Casting long shadows through sorrowful, sad songs, cranes moored fishermen’s boats, which had set sail to find oysters, encrusted with the Devi’s pearl white love. Not long […]

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