It used to rain
when they wrote poetries
to lend their feelings
the voice,
which remained unsaid;
the winds used to blow
warming their souls,
carrying silent
echoes of their names;
Since long,
they now have stopped
trailing each other
along their lost paths;
But even now
when they stood
near the window panes,
they overheard
the winds and the rains,
arguing about their
love for each other,
murmuring their forgotten poetries.
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