No 1 of 2
Q1. The girl of my imagination is as innocent as snow, her soul is as transparent as the day mirrors. Her words are sweet, her heart is kind. Her speech is chaste. Her fragrance of her presence blow magically engulfing my poem with music. I reached out my hand to touch her, but she soon fed away like a sudden flash. Where did my dream depart? Where did the phantom of the one I love melt? Where is the laugh perfumed with the amazement? Where is her whisper drenched with moonlight? At that moment, he heard faint knock at his door. He stood up to see who was there. He could only see the wind moaning on the city's pavements. My city is sleeping under a cruel sky, he said to himself. My city is waiting for the dawn to break. My city looks like me. We both are trembling because of the cold farewell (separation). Then he remembered a verse by one poet which goes like this: " the shade swims in the brook like rust looming on the sword's sharp edge."
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