The poet who was- गुलझार

Hw was a quiet soul.
He spoke incoherently.
With his eyes on his ears
he could hear the sound
of mute silences.


He would gather
the shadows of the moon
and drops of dewy light.
He rustled in his palms
dry leaves of the night.
He would pluck moments,
raw and ripe,
from forest of time.


Yes, the strange poet
would wake up in the night
and crawl up to kiss the moon.


He fell off the moon
and died.
Some say,
he committed suicide.

-गुलझार

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