(Picture Courtesy: Internet)
The future doesnt care for my poetry or your memories...
piling words after words...I've been drawing a hope..
a sand castle meant to be washed away by the tides of time.
These were for you....dried flowers...and pages of forgotten dreams...
These words were meant to drew a world, you could see through your closed eyes...
Since the moment when abstract was no longer a word, but our history..our lives.
Or,
Happiness before we gave it a name...'Oblivion'..
Or,
Eternity before it became your goal....
Lets assume for once,
Essence is the entire instance of life...
and death is the entire essence of poetry.
0 whispers that i heard....:
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