Amidst the crowd's noise,
The silence of my world echoes.
I sat there alone inferior to the superior.
Memories of the joyful junctures occupying the mind.
Only the memoirs,
Being the present's souvenir .
A/N:- After such a long time!!!
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My poems
Poetry"Writers Bleed on Paper...." Yea,That's true....they bleed their most painful and unknown truths which are somewhere deep inside the darkest corner of your heart, your mind which can never be forgotten.... These are some of my painful Truths in the...
