The black thread
tied on your wrist was
meant to end the siege.
The fire-eaters were
back. I will watch
the birth of violence.
When the night
comes. I will move from
door to door for a flame.
Fireflies will assemble
to mourn the death
of the baby moon.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: May 8th, 2019 19:56
- Category: Nature
- Views: 10
- User favorite of this poem: Laura🌻.
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