Poem By Narayankar
When the morning dies
The mist remains in the air for a while
In summers
When flowers break
Their fragrance pervades the ambience for long
When rivers dry
They too remain wet cold for sometime
Why did you then
Not look back even once when you left?
Had your heart stopped beating for me?
You just took the turf as a path
And walked away - is that true, my dear (beloved)?
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