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May 8
Days go on. They never resemble time.
A spring, a summer, a shadow.
An idiom for growth and honour.
In the dusty lanes, children play.
Evenings are ******* with you.
You are old while planning your trip.
And you're older than the wind.
You blow the whistle, the hope is brighter.
You might touch your hair, and it's bald.

Do you remember what it meant to begin?
Do you remember what could've been done?
Does it bother your eyes, moist and cold?
Should you require your coat to hide your soul?

Do not hesitate and fritter like a code,
You're in warm waters, you're a frog without legs.
You're boiling, and the points reverberate.
Your mountain is melting with your thoughts.

The rooms are available for dinner.
Eat and sleep while you can.
Days go on. The Colors on the wall.
Keep asking questions about your plan.

Streets are like snakes, winding mossy ways,
You begin time, you're in the park.
Hot balloons and the voice of a lark.
To the beach for a shell,
A short crisp clear sound of a Bell.

Ringing in the ears, you end your song,
You part your hair, you pack your bags,
Days go on, they're all not sure,
Why do you think you should remember more?

Take the time, the wind, and your boats,
A journey to be taken to the other end of the coast.
Written by
AngshumanChakravarty  23/M/India, Kolkata.
(23/M/India, Kolkata.)   
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