• mridulrapotra 6w

    With a knife in their hand ; they call it a pen
    And stain your death note with lies
    Covered with rainbows and petrichor
    Tickling your nose to make you smile.

    The metaphors stabbing your jitters
    With ointment in other hand
    Lips uttering 'I am here' and getting distant
    with every stanza they read.

    Calling your eyes pearls or lips maybe petals
    In the verse they call love letter
    Beautiful as every tourner in ballet
    But painful as the toe in the shoe.

    The dusks and dawns they mention
    Singing the love songs of your choice
    To the theories they convinced you
    To believe that were right.

    They paint your portraits red
    With the blood of your soul they murdered
    The night you said no to the verse
    They wrote called "pardon for the flaws".
    ©mridulrapotra //-

    Sometimes the conversations with @samridhi_mahajan
    Are more than just conversations��
    (Thankyou for the idea though)

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    Don't fall for someone with a pen and a thought!