Make my path,
my dust. I want to leave
my bloody footprints.
Half-moonblind I
was collecting the tears of moon.
Dewdrops hang from my eyes.
Now where we go to
get our wounds healed up?
God was always sleeping?
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: October 1st, 2024 21:01
- Category: Nature
- Views: 6
Offline)
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