By Aashiq S – India
The Sky following a cry is an artistic try.
Every time along the dark drooling dry,
Build up of the bark of an angle,
The hope of a sample,
A novel pinnacle,
Of Unlit clouds, kissed by the farewell of phoenix rays.
Yes, ember’s got multiple sides,
And the caressed drops have rolled and cleaned them for the flesh,
Yielded and yet to rot.
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