Oh Love?


Oh, love…?
No, it is not my cup of tea
It has to be my coffee
Brewing with bitterness of pain
And that stringent stain

Oh, love…?
I am not that romantic kind of a person
I am more than a casket for the soul
I am that whimsical artist playing with paints
And that reader who reads about the gone saints

Oh, love…?
I can’t kiss that well
I directly emote instead
I taste smoke on my lips
And memories on my finger tips.

– Divyangana


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