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I fear, someday

the ink will dry up

the words would cease to exist

thoughts would be dull as the days

and there would be something amiss

Ideas would be scarce

melodies will fade away

Every story at the crossroad

not sure where to sway

Will it be like that

or my imagination is wild

whatsoever it may be

it scares me like a child

Floating on these words

are the pillars of my strength

my rustic soul surviving

despite every bend.

 

 

 

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