In my poems you search
yourself. The timeless words creep into
to find the story of love's pain.
You have taken away my
memory. I remember only the night
dance, of harvest moon in distress.
Clouds never stop for anyone.
The silence becomes loud. I have survived
in coming and going to the slaughter house.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: March 24th, 2021 22:02
- Category: Nature
- Views: 13
Offline)
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