Contemplation There's a town just at the hollow of a valley,Where fragments of my being are scattered still,I do miss the hue, last seen while chasing a butterfly,The fragrance I remember from a withered leafy eye.A tune too close to tears,A sight every frame seems like a barrier.Alleys, spiral in nature,And I often forget,What it is called?Forbidden port orWaves of mortal sighs.
-সোনালী চক্রবর্তী
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