I go weary of the twilight
to see the jar of stars
quenching his thirst.
Watching, bowl of lemon rays
Knitting pearls on his face
And glaring at lavender flames of spring
pouring down on him droplets of rain
My beryl Sky!!
Let him starve upon the isle of words
Keep his lips cracked
Like my own dewy eyes
As if he learnt to speak
That moment I shall die......
copy rights reserved to Paras Ali/2017
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