The foghorn
Like the guerrilla, it ambushes
A dark sailor, it besmirches
Baffles like a night view
It transpires, murks
Duns the summit
The celestial
The colorant
Undercover in curls
And froths, peeps out
As a warning, engrossing
A hazard in hiding, an ill wind
A siren who escapes the lips, fallacious
A dynamite which shows its face in a haze
A thin ice on stilts, day dreaming in the shade.
Founder Of LIAM - LIVING IN THE AFTERMATH OF MURDER
6 年Stunning Photo.
M.A. in ELT. University of Dhaka.
6 年The final line...