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Wednesday, 1 June 2016

Blown thistles ...

I woke up one day
To see your lips silently and calmly
Kissing the very sunrays
That caressed us
Out of the dreamy world
We survived in
Your lips glistened as it slowly and softly exhaled
All dreariness and lifelessness
Like a silhouette of some shadow
Dancing frenzy in the morning dew
Quivering lips upon the touch of stale fresh city breeze
White curtains that clothed most of you that remained human
And everything else present in that room

Seemed like blown thistles.

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