(5 December 1872-10 June 1957 / Amritsar, Punjab / India)

The Night Air

The night air,
free of the day's fever
and passion,
Blows over the sleeping foes,
That are almost friends in sleep.
The lips that moved
to hurt are motionless,
The teeth that clenched
in anger are sealed with sleep.
The tongue,
the sword like thing
that cut so sharp,
such unhealing wounds,
is sheathed.

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