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Menash Mohan Shrestha

Mother Of Death

It all started in the middle of the night.
When she engulfed the burning sun in her dark dungeon.
Suddenly which changed her economics.
It made her wealthy, it made her poor.
The urge for acid in her arid mouth.
The tenderness in her chest that it brought.
Little mass of cells crammed in the walls of future.
Extra dose of pills to satiate the fluid's hunger.
It all started when lightening occured.
She felt pain, she felt rush.
Her thought impregnated with hope.
All shattered like sand when that ended as still birth.
But the cinderella kept dancing at the corner.
Only to add sorrow to the mother of death.

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Secret Temptation II

Tossing and turning the entire night, I'm used to losing my sleep.
Can only see her vaguely, I'm cursing my lacking of binocular.
In these rainy days I long to see her dancing under her umbrella.
Seemingly impossible, but for her I could play my part of D.J.
Just for a single glimpse I wait for entire day as she seems as elusive as Cinderella.
For gods and goddesses, she struggled and feigned the disease of sitophobia.
And in every infinitesimal moment she resides in my reverie, but I've had them all crushed.
When, like some herb-smoking sage with their naked body smeared with ash.
All my friends preach me like some centenarian swami.
However I usually find myself lending my ears to hear the silence of her talk.
And the pain of her absence abates miraculously as her smile acts as an anaesthesia.
One day I should face her tete-a-tete with all my might and power.
And that day I'll shout to the world that she resides in every ups and downs of my sulci and gyri.

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