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I must write a poem As the train drifts in the dark
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Tulips hang by the window
Alluring the bees from the garden
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My granny is paying a visit to us she's sweet as sugar and avoids fuss
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when deepest secrets are portrayed as uncovered
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black rimmed sober spectacles shimmer on her little focused eyes
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oh! dear my life is becoming a hell cause I dont buy what they sell
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I'm laying on my bed crumblmed satin beneath
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in the middle of two worlds some mother-
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there are certain things,
from which you can never run away
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Amid the wood of white oak The sky turns crimson red
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Amid the woods of white oak
The sky turns crimson red
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someone was sprinkling hues
bright red, orange & pink
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a long road slithers like a serpent, beside a shallow dull-orange lake
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Merging two lives; we take another birth
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worst is when; I see you near but feel you far.
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crumpled blankets adorn the bed night has just turned down
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a crisp black night extends
soft and cold
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filled in with the hopelessness there lay a pink rose
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Ships might sail against the winds Birds might fly without the wings
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Towards the twilight of my stay here
lots of memoirs walk past the eyes
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Diwali just went by,
people have returned from home
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what is it to grow?
to separate into another stream
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The drop
Does not always falls in to the oyster
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It began long ago
A child,
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While this evening takes a dip,
In the serenity of these sinuous blues
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I remember that boiled mashed mango
spiced with grandma's old and new tango
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Night drips from the window
Outside the door moon shimmers
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When suddenly it starts raining,
Laying in the open wet garden,
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