Poems

Burnt

Type and delete, type and delete,
Reminding myself of my own words,
Not caring about the now commonly felt hurts.
Familiar it gets:
Planned or unplanned, only known by the depths.

The depths can only be reached by those invited,
Depths are a secret, depths are deep.
Uninvited, one gets lost and smothered,
Between the confusion and the desires.
A burning bush scares away the rabbits,
May appear beautiful to some,
Yet the anguish felt by the bush is burnt,
Until there’s only ashes and that too disappears with a breeze.

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