A blemished book

Allow me to shrug the dust,

From the book that tells

No tales, except impression

Of your loneliness on its covers

I guess white and red sinks,

Well enough to write an epic

Ink your despair in blood red

On the empty white pages

Of my life, so that a little we

Share our shades and tints

To be significant for once

Pull out the plug…as you,

don’t need the bedside lamp,

To read a book with no tales

Or blemish on it your sorrows

A story written in red on white

Will always be remembered

Whenever our hearts meet

Each other!! 

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