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Priya Patel
Priya Patel

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The whispers

The sweet of you drips softly like the honeyed dew of Spring A whimsical breeze on lips of branches old


In the end, it snows

In the end, it snows It’s whispering time when backs are turned and words flow Each smile is a show


Canvas me

Canvas me I am a blur of emotions; the colored dots of freckles that scatter freely in the air and


seed to bloom

Seed to bloom Something new arose today bloomed right from a stem life planted A friendship fresh between unknown world’s


Another day

Another day  Today met yesterday a little too early this morning Sleep still floating in my eyes like clouds in



Acceptance The silence has settled in In a plea for noise, I scream from my heart but only my ears


Storms ahead

Clouds bunched together in a somber embrace, sheilding themselves with raining showers just like the ones that that fell to


sprinkles of hope

I gazed upon a bed of trampled weeds and early blooms; their bodies crushed and soft white petals wilted to

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