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Ichor
With an elated heart,
I saw you basking
In the reflected glory
Of my golden ichor.
Oh!
Don't you know?
It's deadly for you.
Morning moon through the fog,
Leads the way to another day.
Your words are smoke and mirrors.
Setting fire to the idle bridge,
Saved the toll that I'd pay.
Cold -
As the air now,
Ice -
Grows between,
Bright -
As the name suggests,
Sacred -
Yet lethal,
Golden blood rises.
Copyright ©
Diya Dutta Roy
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