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UB ( / New Delhi)


Poem By uday balakrishnan

They say that he lived there for many years of his life
Radha painted his world without seeing it at all.
On a cold autumn morning
Walking past a field she asked
‘Where are his flowers? ’
‘No daffodils in this season’
She was told.
But they are there in his words
Read by her a million times
Her placid paintings
Make more sense to me
Ass, how did I, miss? ? ?
She has always been
One of Wordsworth’s beautiful flowers
All her life and to know that..... now!

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