A few, inexpensive, white pages
The distance of a spoilt ink, travelled
Fills in...
A few untold tales, by
The filthy roadside
Rests, the minute...
Crumbs of words, bathed in them
My being a poet...
The city's decay was cleansed, but
The poetry, I couldn't find her.....
The distance of a spoilt ink, travelled
Fills in...
A few untold tales, by
The filthy roadside
Rests, the minute...
Crumbs of words, bathed in them
My being a poet...
The city's decay was cleansed, but
The poetry, I couldn't find her.....
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