deepundergroundpoetry.com

Behind Her

Deceit is her identity,
Always,
You still do not know,
What she hides.

I meet her every night,
In darkness,
She sways us all daily,
My moonlight.

Her prejudices,
That I always deplore,
Anonymous she,
Waiting for my cries.

She is a metaphor,
Her affection imprecise,
Far is that bench,
Where she quietly lies.

The scent she wears,
Mysterious,
The solitude she bears,
Entrenched.
Deceit is her identity.
Megha_Pant0012
Written by Megha_Pant0012 (Megha Pant)
Published
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