From the cuckoo it begins
by Purbasha Roy
The cuckoo sends music from a mango tree to the noon weather. The deliciously stacked clouds give the sun a soft face like the moon. The fractured glow, more bearable than the thought of the world going on with a finesse without me. The wind blows even if no one asks for a favour. I sit upon the grass and see the crows soar along with time soaring in-between everything. It seems to me an assortment of calmness. These are the chapters of eternities I watch while the hill watches me through the form it took ages to form.
Bio-She is a writer from Jharkhand, India. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Denver Quarterly Review, SAND, Iron Horse Literary Review, The Margins as of late. Best of the Net Nominee.
Website: https://linktr.ee/Purbashawrites