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G
Children are not the spoons.....
They are the mud, waiting for the shape.......................
 Aug 2017 Miss Havisham
Wanderer
I found you permeating my wedding bouquet
Dried scents of longing and what could have been
Are never as bittersweet initially as they are when revisited
Intake breath so deep I can feel red blood cells gorging themselves on the bounty
Tiny dust motes dance along late afternoon sunlight
As comforting shafts sneak through closed curtains
Heart beat slows as though to stretch the moment
Minutes pass, then time seemed to fall away
Breathing you in
Saturating late August with wish-you-were-here whispers
Freed quietly from salted lips as the day dims
Be
Being In love with poetry
Is changing society in its bad days.......
Po
Poetry doesn't need experiments....
It needs water to grow........................
Friends are heroes
Visible and invisible
Sung and unsung
And some of them
Like stars,
rise out of the blue
I find mine in
the compartment:
Long in the tooth
Undressed, untidy
And subject to stitches
Our loya guards
keep a tab
On our movements
Laughter and gossip
Our relatives
Blow our perspiration away
Our cemented roof
Streathens our shelter
Forgotten, abandoned,
Still our best companions.
Poetry
Though doesn't rule over people
changes their way of thinking the things
And then it controls their minds for improvement in their actions
Creating a piece of  imagination is holding butterflies with clouds, and sketching it on a foam, spouting at the mouth of the fountain!
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