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Comments about arunabh biswas
Not My Song
I've helped those who couldn't help themselves
And yet find myself beaten by these cliches
Like smoke between my lips and the red on the parched bed
I'm a virgin still, a living dead.
Not many read my mind, so I wind and rewind
Everything there is to say,
Every word that I've prayed
Only between these words they exist,
Like the flying demons they persist
One cloud at a time, they shed tears, fears, near every second and smears my face.
I've gone from writing the way it's meant to be
To across the line that has long defied me.
I wish for a dish, a stitch ...