Everyday my love gets a shape,
it's pure and, of course, faultless,
each day ends with an expect
but might be confused!
she feels lack, betrayed
and fails to expect.
No, love will emanate,
the soul can't deny;
and you shouldn't defy,
just look at me-
it's gleaming into our eyes
and trying to give a shape.
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Comments about this poem (Shape by BIBHAKAR DUTTA )
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