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A mediocre

You're enjoying I'm creating Neither hundred percent Nor the hundredth of whole Only like a mediocre of You and me. As long as I'm writing My poem bridges the gap Even though a single Atom of us.

My survival

When the gilded sun would outlive
The power of my words
I would be no more to feel
Due to the oblivious enmity.

Half sunk air in visage of atmosphere
Would be remain here
Lonely but many trees would peep into
My survival which is no more.

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