He gazed,he gazed and he gazed.

In search of capturing words

Only to find none

The sabre,they say,is part of the swordman

The anvil makes the blacksmith

And the words make the wordsmith

How come he wanes on a such poetic night?

For beauty is an allurer and twister of the soul

Sometimes, she exhumes poesies from the deepest grave

And smears them unto hearts

Sometimes,she makes popinjays dumb

The eater becomes eatable

Beauty inspires,it also fades

Beauty is craved and it’s also wasted




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