Like a gush of wind,
She jostled her way in,
With no forewarning,
And without any early signs.
And before his oppressed self could negotiate,
The wound,
that dried a while past,
Abraded with vigor.
He tried putting the stanch,
But the scruple he had,
Further deteriorated the lesion,
Beyond his reckon.
But all this while his worry was,
Neither the wound,
Nor the abrasions,
But the torrent,
he was left to face for a lifetime to come.
Copyright © Shantanu Baruah
Confab With Me 
So well written! You have an amazing talent! 😊❤
Thank you so much🙏 I truly appreciate you reading and c
And commenting. 🙏
Couldn’t agree more@ The Gentle Storm
It’s 195 now.. I told you.. The world won’t be spared of your ‘RUNIC INCANTATIONS ‘
This is nothing. You deserve alot more💫💫💫
Thank you so much 🙏I appreciate your kind gesture
Thank you 🙏you are very kind
Reblogged this on Ckonfab.