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The Flower

Azanum Bhat

The flower must left fragrance,
Did it itself smell?
It was full of patience,
Put pluckers into hell.
Of course! It effloresced,
But didn't bloom cheerfully.
Sometime hurt, sometime forced,
It never cried loudly.
Eventually departure reached,
Died with full of emotions.
Pluckers get cursed,
By generations after generations.

(C) Azanum Bhat
01/21/2019


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