The Flavour of a Smudge
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Scarless
Its the end of a century
Its the end of war
Its the end of cyclical rains
And of silent scars.
Unadulterated
Pure love, like anything else
Falls flat
Unused dysfunctional sense
Like pure gold.
You can't wear it.
Like pure iron.
You can't use it.
Like pure water
You just can't drink from it.
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