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on the grave of dilemma, her poetries shouldered f

on the grave of dilemma, her poetries shouldered for burial perfectly resting with her shroud, the dead poems cried~ Shall I sing melancholy for the nib to get broken, drowning the words into sorrow with my dying notes. (Read caption) She blooms red in metaphors her heart enough broken for the blood to carry words. Not the destructive war she is but a outrage fell while protesting. She dances with the long gone smiles of autumn leaves in her poem, as they find colors callousing the aura
on the grave of dilemma, her poetries shouldered for burial perfectly resting with her shroud, the dead poems cried~ Shall I sing melancholy for the nib to get broken, drowning the words into sorrow with my dying notes. (Read caption) She blooms red in metaphors her heart enough broken for the blood to carry words. Not the destructive war she is but a outrage fell while protesting. She dances with the long gone smiles of autumn leaves in her poem, as they find colors callousing the aura
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Meera Ali

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