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Poem and her poet!

Poem is a dead body now,
Dragging and pulling by foxes,
Rotting in the dustbin of reality,
Now a days poem has been lifeless.

Poet has been a great cemetery,
Funeral pyre is burning in his heart,
Lot of words are burning there,
Unpenned poems are flying as ash.

The poem and his poet,
Has been a fairy tale today,
Has been a black and white photo in the frame.

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