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Aug 11
She was art and art was something he obsessed over,
A painting of the sunset hanging from a wall,
Colors ablaze, a fiery sky dipped in gold,
Captured on canvas, a moment to  behold.
She was a quiet resort far away, a tranquil escape,
Ancient engravings, in perfect size and shape.
Unearthed yet intricate pottery with patterns so fine,
She was the echoes of artisans from another lifetime.
She was a handwritten letter, each word a brushstroke of care,
A fragrant bloom, delicate and rare.
She was a vintage record, the soft crackle of nostalgia,
A seashell's whisper, a gala, a cultural memorabilia.
She was starburst in the night, a sparkle's gleam,
A clear flowing river, an artist's dream.
She was a fragment of a meteor's cosmic flight,
A glimpse into the universe's sheer might.
She was a mosaic of moments, a gallery of sights,
A constellation of dreams on endless nights.
She was the fragrance of rain on dry earth,
A treasure trove of memories, each one with worth...
Ignatius Hosiana
Written by
Ignatius Hosiana  30/M/Kampala-Uganda
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