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| Pic courtesy: Google images |
its a thought smog
a haze
through which
life looks like a
faded silhouette
No gadgets or doctors
can determine
this blockage
of words
it could kill
a writer you know
the way
the simmering core
of a dormant volcano
eats its insides
till its all ashes
in a soul winter
the heart is a barren patch of pain
and spring is far behind.
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