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Love is foul nor fragrant
A rare crescent when comes to be,
Moon’s silver so scant comes to be.
No fragrance from some comes to be,
From some a foul scent comes to be.
No use digging into the past,
The same old repent comes to be.
Break mirrors nor try to look in,
Image nigh but bent comes to be.
If ye look in a long closed heart,
The same old scar, dent comes to be.
No matter how backward man bends,
Seldom the past spent comes to be.
Scratch life, it is foul nor fragrant,
Only life in lent comes to be.
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Ghazal |11.07.2025| love, past, moon, mirror, heart
Copyright ©
Aniruddha Pathak
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