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A Poem Without A Title
It's not always beautiful or eloquent
My pain on paper
Sometimes it lacks finesse
It's a dull ache
Sometimes it screams
Because it can no longer stand encased
Quiet, silent, soft as a dove's feather
Like eyes welling up with tears
Lips quivering as teeth bite
Into the back of my lower lip
Hands clench into fists
As nails quietly, but forcefully dig
Into flesh
Leaving grooves..
My pain sometimes wants to scream
Sometimes, it is so beautiful in its tragedy
It's like a fine sad ballet
A piece of violin music mourning
The moon glowing as a beautiful orb
Alone in the sky
Blood on snow
It has its own life
My pain is not always visible
Sometimes the words dance before my eyes
Only to die
Disintegrate into thin air before I capture them
My pain, is not always mine.
poem
by
Rabia Minhas
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