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Bleeding Girl

He roams my street,
Effort to come close,
Examine my eyes and value,
Hey you, don’t prick flower buds,
Mother has shouted.

I’m the flower bud and
My age is of innocence,
I’m still small and
my youth is growing,
Searching for the right partner;
Unaware these waters get me drowned.

Wrists are fair,
My wrists are fair and
my bangles are black,
I feel shy and,
I add a smile,
My eyes are intoxicating,
I won’t adorn myself.



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Amuta Sivadas

Amuta Sivadas


A late bloomer, But A good friend for known and a good psychologist for unknown