My Injured Self
Category: /General/In your big eyes
my mission ends.
I lower the flag to half-mast.
The steps were small
to follow the footprints
of the demise of an affair.
Embracing the words,
you had felt pampered by
of broken hills.
The white muslin, weaves into a wreath;
would be laid on the unbuttoned secrets.
The night watchman
stands guard till the last
candle burns out.
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