When you walk
on moon in February, I take-down
the clouds to become wet.
Your memory lingers.
I gather the monarchs to
play with my past.
I am not sure, when
the dark moves on to give space
to imprisoned pain.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: November 8th, 2024 19:49
- Category: Nature
- Views: 11
Offline)
Comments1
Excellent
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