A Black Hill
A Black Hill
I notice a hill
In color jet black
Made by step by step
Layers upon layers
Since its birth
It cannot speak
Nor could it hear
But walks with speed
In the corners
Where it is formed
Turning, twisting
Writhing and moans
Sits up
And rolls
Like a statue
In surging pains
From the things
Unspoken and untold
It starts melting
And becomes a stream
Since I met with you
Flows like a rivulet
With a murmur sound
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