Nostalgia - Poem by R.K Das
Pricks and makes my soul bloody
Like thorns of a red rose
Making so to a tender palm.
Today, the shelter-home and
The familiar street look deserted
And the cuckoo sings hoarse.
Gets wayward and lost
In cups of tattered foliage.
My sky, stars, clouds
And my earth shamed
And shocked by an untimely
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