Ink filled pen,
Themeless mind,
Wandering as in den,
And suffer as blind.
Blurred image of ash
Flew without wings
And rest in mirage.
Quietened lungs
Breath the pages
And broke the glass
And the lovely images
Too rest in the grass.
Reshma L R✍️For more insights 🧐"mynewblogspotrk.blogspot.com" & Poetry collections : "Unstrung Notes", "Elysian Florets", "Wonder Meal", "Ormakal"
When I turned on the BBC this morning, all I heard was war— not in one nation, but in many; not in one battlefield, but across a wounded wor...
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