Buried leaves

I buried heaps of leaves Under my cosy bed; Years later, they turned A uniform brown, Those, which were once Green, yellow and red. To have a glance I dug them out and reread; Left out for long, they appeared Indecipherable, blurred Lost their outstanding stance. Once upon a time They were also words; I felt them alive within, afresh.

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Swimming frogs

  Teams are tired of their tasks, If you’d ever have the courage to ask Them why they wear their masks When they are or aren’t at work, They’d perhaps break into tears And sing sad songs in chorus. The inseparable fear Follows them everywhere In perpetual Halloween Like jokers of a comic scene. They’re earning money Which, through the

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