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By Smita Mahto

My gaze fell on her

And my deep thoughts

Are interrupted

She was holding a posture

Her body has preferred.

Her curves bathing

In sunshine

And she smells of

Roses dipped in dew.

The more I look at her

My feelings

Become eloquent

And I try to personify her beauty

In the poems, I write.


Who are we to declare

How does she look?

Or who are we to criticize

The curves she has got.

Why do we forget,

Her curves hold a life

And the struggle to

Bring it alive.

By Smita Mahto

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