Victor Sapkota Poems

My mother, my dear mother, oh!
You love me more than me!
Are such rhymes rather cheap today?
I write them heartily.
...

Revelries are simply the smoke-rings of time.
Acquaintances are mere words that do not rhyme.
And fast-blowing winds shall fly those rings away.
But there shall be words which rhyme with you every day.
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What happened b’yond the sky
That people called it heaven’s tears?
Do Gods and Angels cry
Hid by the clouds and it appears?
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