He was like an autumn wind
that came in my life
brushed against my skin
played with my hair
and then...
slipped past
to play with another.
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i do not write poetry; i take words and dip them in feelings...
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the dark.
thoughts, intense. lots of thoughts knocking on the door - knocking. banging. threatening to break the mind. confusion. cobweb of memories....
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Literature by Arti Honrao is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License. unless mentioned otherwise.
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