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Not to a poetry

The proud of selfness is alike worm.
Undermines good thoughts.
Barks like a dog over it.
And digests like the leaves.

The animal is naked.
The rainy nights fall upon them.
It did dare to be there fearless.

The man was a nice human.
Dared to die of hunger.
Throwing arrows, swords.
He had.
The fool.

She was a woman.
She was in a hurry.
Giving birth all destitute and Sorrows.
As her child.

She was a woman.
Agreeable all conditions were.
For Daughter’s marriage.
She was frightened of her tomorrow.
In her arms.

Yes, she was the one only, the mother.
Knew the pain and neglect of being “She”.
By marrying She Married to them but.
Arun Kumar Prasad


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