The Past

Sitting by the window sill,
Contemplating how past comes back to haunt,
To rejuvenate the wound,
Just like the way Poison feels Happy on someone’s death,
The pain slowly sweeps through the veins into the blood,
Pumping into the heart,
Ever so slowly de coding the cells,
And contaminating the muscle,
Until Finally it stops
-Hema Sanghavi

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