Pain often reclines at 

the back of my parched throat

on other occasions it

runs smoothly uninterrupted

in green veins, free-flowing, 

as it is always the case love

is conditional, whereas pain

fills up the thirsty eyes, 

morphing into tiny tender

crystals cascading down

the gaunt cheeks 

without a bang or a crackle 

so quietly, so gently…





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