Poems by Mamta Sharma
Friday, 9 January 2015
THEY ARE ALIVE FOREVER
Pencils are broken,
Colors are stolen,
Words are forbidden,
That’s how they start to kill an art,
Still artists grow,
Like a sunlight,
And a golden rainbow delight,
Playing in the soul streams,
They bring the memoirs!
1 comment:
Vishanth Panakkal
1 April 2015 at 01:51
Je Suis Charlie !!!!
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Je Suis Charlie !!!!
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