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The pretty girl
Her pretty face holds an untold story,
Her love was a sea of misery;
The way she smiles,
Resembles thousands of pain behind,
The way she talks ,
Reminds me of the dead roses flaws.
Her aura seems to be exalted,
But care for herself was rather defaulted,
The way she looks,
Resembles me of the dead gazelle's eyes,
The way she sounds ,
Reminds me of the dead fishes drowned .
I wonder where she has gone ,
The prettiest cheering person,
Is she dead? Or laid underneath;
I wonder what she had suffered ,
That took away her soul ;
And made her something undiscovered.
© Bishal kalita
Her love was a sea of misery;
The way she smiles,
Resembles thousands of pain behind,
The way she talks ,
Reminds me of the dead roses flaws.
Her aura seems to be exalted,
But care for herself was rather defaulted,
The way she looks,
Resembles me of the dead gazelle's eyes,
The way she sounds ,
Reminds me of the dead fishes drowned .
I wonder where she has gone ,
The prettiest cheering person,
Is she dead? Or laid underneath;
I wonder what she had suffered ,
That took away her soul ;
And made her something undiscovered.
© Bishal kalita
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