Beef, Beef, Beef, Take It Beef And Write You The History Of Medieval India

Poem By Bijay Kant Dubey

Your sun dress on Saturday
and the way you move on summer streets
walking to the market place,
I thank hidden deities
I've seen your face.

I want to live in a city
of perfect smiles and bouquets
and to simply hear you laugh.

The lies I've told myself
about never wanting to fall in love
get blown away like autumn leaves
when I know you're in the room.

I never thought I'd contemplate again
wedding rings or spring chapels
but everything about you makes me believe
happiness still can breathe in air of all my dreams.

Every lonely tear at dusk
and weeping midnight candle going out
is worth the day you meet someone.

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That our eyes are sore and red;
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She was weeping when we met
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I’m writing the poetry of fragile souls
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Of hopeful but fleeting romance.

Bob Dylan Heard The Voice

Bob Dylan heard the voice
Of a poet who died in the gutter;
That dying voice
Then seeped into his soul

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I don’t desire to wear a sad face too long
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And that the evening will usher in a sky of scattered stars,
When I know hopeful prayers and songs

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Misfortunes can be intense
In the hour of sadness,
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Get rebuilt until a skyline