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either a garden of rose

or stages with sharp thornes

i write its name , write and write

and blacken its face

either a slab on graveyard

or broken door of haunted house

i seek through the blindnes, i seek and seek,

either an arm of an empty stranger

or hands of beloved,

i am just a hollow shelf, full of stories untold,

and i seek refuge like blood seeking its way to heart...

hiramalik