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For my poet friends

who still wears drab colours

of gloom

who still grieves

believing that what she

lost was a lover,

whereas destiny kissed her

with the voluntary exit

of a looter, a Rogue Rover

in camouflage of love

The sun rises

off with your sack clothes

clad yourself in colors of gold

of bloom, of boom and

throw a ball to welcome



Development and policy analyst with a strong interest in the arts and inclusive social change. Dabbles occasionally into poetry and literary criticism!

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