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492

Poetry

A Conversation between the human mind and it's formless child-Metaphor.

Kasturi Ghate

A Conversation between the human mind and it's formless child-Metaphor.

You are the bullets of memories, I fired
Some whizz by, some tear me apart.
You are the seeds of time I buried in my backyard.
Lifetimes we spend predicting which one will grow,
And end up getting stuck in limbo.

You are the wise old face
With intricate beautiful lines.
An Origami of perfectly folded failures,
Shaping up to hide your lies.

You are the smile
That glows like a crescent moon.
Singing the obituary of hope
Wishing for frost in June.

You're the cake with condescending frosting,
I couldn't resist when I was on a diet.
You are the crumbs falling from the feast of my mind,
An addictive Chainsmokers' riot.

You are my living lighthouse,
That set my soul on fire.
Crushing my life's Titanic,
While an iceberg I naively admired.

You are the gentle breeze, a writer thought Would turn the windmills of his heart,
But you grind it to dust
By spinning up your Black art.

A new star in the sky
Presenting the gift of life to witness.
In a hopeful mother's womb,
You are the Sonography of Emptiness.

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