You are beautiful,
still untouched by moon.
I am creating myth.
In small hours, I
release the pain at dusk
to touch you unsaid.
I think, not to think of
you, when nightingale comes
to collect your song.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: January 17th, 2024 20:52
- Category: Nature
- Views: 1
Offline)
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