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Our home


Smelling kitchen
Dried bathroom
Sleepy bed
Talking living spaces
And the listening rocking chair
Or rather
Listening living space
And talking rocking chair

I weaving the flowers along the tread
And you trying hung the one
On the door step
Mine wet hairs dripping rains to your face
Your eyes complaining to the sun rays
Peeping through the dancing curtains of your favourite shade
The petals of the Daisy trying to escape the stem
And run away with the wind

Shutting the choas inside
I run into the neighborhood
The thrash can is full
With my scribbled thoughts, dripping from one to another
And with the wraps of your food licking one and every around them
And the space from outside feelings so tempting
I run in and fall on to you
Your chest, my head
Your buttons, my hair
Your towel, my smell

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