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May 2018
Crops crave for water at a hill
Thirst visible on their stalks
The sky gushes a coal black
But no. It is not rain.
Nothing to quench a crop’s thirst.
Only the manifestation of darkness
roaming the skies
And yes. Walking on a road, intimidated,
Before me, in the distance:
Nothing but dead man’s hill
But now a smirking old woman:
Silently still.
Based on an eerie dream I had last night.
Neuvalence
Written by
Neuvalence  21/M
(21/M)   
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