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Jan 2017
The letters, The roses,
became the grey ashes
from her fireplace.
The chimney smoked
the burnt petals,
Her tears danced on the
clamor of cracking woods
and the memories flew
with the debris.

Yet nothing was changed.
All that burnt that day,
Was her innocent heart.
Budhaditya Bose
Written by
Budhaditya Bose  India
(India)   
322
 
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