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Aug 2017
The lights, they play beautifully
Upon the canvas of the horizon sinking wholly
In the blend of twilight
The city afar only seen as colourful dots
Bleaching the eyes with lots
And lots of colours that are still
But moving in the artful manifestation of the waters

Everything that matters
The heaven,the clouds, even the still lights
Are conveyed to my sight
And I as an alien figure judge their might
For I can never be one of them
A poem on a extravagance of the foreign and the feeling of an outcast
Written by
Bibek  19/M/Pokhara nepal
(19/M/Pokhara nepal)   
   Smriti Ranabhat
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