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Devanshi Khetarpal Poems
Twinning Times are Brimming. Coffee sinks.
Scratch My Soul
If you scratch my soul, You will get scraps of Jane Austen. If you scratch scraps of Jane Austen, You will get attain the traits of a raconteur.
Pick Your Nose!
When you pick your nose And pull the booger out, Which is slimy, sticky and black, I feel awful. I can't feel more pain
From Dawn To Dusk
The tenebrous tiring tipsy night strutted away, As the sun tarried to commence its dynamic day. A bluish beam lingered in the air, But something amidst the bluish beam,
Paws, Firm on The ground. Eyes,
The traveller marches on the vale, Of sights around, some green, some pale. He travels around, going to town, From when the sun's up an' till it's down.
The Flower Tots
There's a mill under the leaves, beside that dew, Where the flower tots, labour in mirth, And their unknown carriers, stand in the queue, Waiting for the buds to take birth.
The Golden Bird
There shalt be a day, When the land of the Ganges be potent. It shalt burst into a flame And conquer the planet
My Father, My Strength
When I sink into a tenebrous quagmire, It is he who pulls me out. When I stand forlorn and no one turns, It is he who answers my shout.
The men who were born of fashionable blood, Have spilled on the sinless pails of mud. Those worthy of being unbound of vice, Have lost their beam to those portraying nice.
The Same Ol' Bench
In the midst of the green, Her bodice protruding amid the shadowed area, She sat on the bench waiting for her amigo, The gargantuan area unilluminated,
The Solitary Street
I walk along the solitary street, My heart, could not endure the heat. And now I see, a sight far away, The ascent of a new day.
A Torn Flower
A torn flower seems to be Like a dreadful conjugal life, Like a golden chest that has lost its key, Like an unremitting strife.
Who Meddles On And On With The Sight Of ...
The winding windows were binding on the wall, The night looked black and the blokes looked blur. Who's so mean to be keen on mischief. Who meddles on and on with the sight of Little Natalia Shawn?
Comments about Devanshi Khetarpal
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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Edgar Allan Poe
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(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Like the floor.
Don't know what.