Black and blues

The edges of her cracked fingers
spill a river of poetry
in the archaic book
where the pages cry words
of dying promises
and lying strangers
of the inevitable time
and a sweet poem that rhymes

This is a story of a dilapidated soul
who writes black on white,
dances with the colour of her skies
and sings an old country song for the pedestrians passing by

Seconds then minutes then days
and decades get over
She returns to the lord of lovers
But her ink never dries
on the grounds of the infinite blues

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