"he loves me,
he loves me not."
she kept plucking the petals apart until she was pricked by the thorn which bleeds out her pain.
आप पढ़ रहे हैं
The bleeding rose.
कविताThis is a collection of poetry and prose.I write for those who were left in destitute,those whose scars and pain are left unattended. Come with me and explore a journey through words.
plucking petals.
"he loves me,
he loves me not."
she kept plucking the petals apart until she was pricked by the thorn which bleeds out her pain.
