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Poetry Magica

Everyday, I weave words into a beautiful tapestry.
Ah the allure of these words,
Each has its chrome, tint and hue.
Enticed am I into weaving a design,
And everyday, a new tinge captures my core,
Falling softly like showers from skies.
My hungry soul drinks in until sated.
And my thirsty eyes bewilder
At the mesmerizing colours filtering
Deep into my crevices and crannies
Filling the voids and emptiness,
Weaving joyous stories anew.
There isn’t a day I’m not drunk,
Intoxicated in this sentential brew.
Nothing matters more,
I realise, as patterns unfold and fade, a novel texture shews.
I soak in this bliss, ah, this momentary tinctured dew.

Mumtaz Khorakiwala

Pic. Courtesy:Nicholas Thomas

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