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Stuti Shree


The clock is ticking: A poem on camouflaging truths.

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6 months ago
6 months ago
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Sehnsucht of dead alive

blacks painted white

to be washed handsome 

by swords winsome

battle starts alight.

Darkest dawns

stolen crowns

tsunami of feels

real and reel

fallen masks of smile

left, a frown.

Shatters of soil

wars turmoil

rustic defeats

shining cheats

as red starts to boil.

As been told

the darkest bold

shushed secrets

anecdoche speeches

telltales untold.

Voice behind wars

long gone star

left the dark behind

covered sunshine

an orb full of scars.

Classic of contemporary

smoke filled bowers weary

all forgotten crimes

with punishment sublime

mastering the robbery.

Swords up the throat

on portrayed villains

by made up heroes

with hollow furrows

lastly in the end

let the clock spend.

Written by Stuti Shree

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