Now we will talk of daintiness
in dark, while the white
snow blushes with―
the glow of a kiss.
The scented moon will
touch the invisible, so
the imprisoned voices
would release.
Do you hear the unheard
song of a wounded bird?
A feeling of going no where
stops.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: September 14th, 2020 20:24
- Category: Nature
- Views: 7
- User favorite of this poem: Trenz Pruca.
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