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Mar 2021
When you laugh, your
eyes spill magic. What you did
not give me is raining.

Triumph of sorrow. For my
muse, the pain was deep and ******.
I was not ready to repeat empty words.

The iris is blooming.
I drink your love. God was not
interested to give me moon.
Written by
Satsih Verma
70
 
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