Who is
she?
Always leaving…
Trembling
wrinkles of fingers
On my
image.
Who digs
some rows…
On dusty
barren
And sows
the seeds of wishes.
Inside
and deep!
Who is
she?
Always
growing…
Throbs
on the wall,
Any my
tired image
Starts
Throbbing.
What
complaint?
She
tells to the
Rectangular
panchayat of soil
Sitting
behind the frame.
Who is
she?
Always splashing
my thoughts,
Whom,
neither I could burn
Nor I
could offer to river.
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