“The Writer”


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i shall write about your pain and mine;
our love and hate poured now in rhyme.
we come alive in the hearts and minds,
of men and women, who read my lines.

the stark reality of a love that can never be,
may now only be a reason and a source for me.
when random thoughts enter the dance
that my hands commence by chance.

the graces that a love–once pure–can now bestow,
are these emotive utterings that grow;
as i painfully write in poetry and prose.
a love forgotten comes alive–magnifies the loss.

–Diwa

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