Raging Fire

The lonely fire burns

On its way, it turns

Golden, red and blue,

On the ice, it churns

.

Little flakes of snow

Each makes the fire low

And then it’s out of sight

Won’t find it if we plow

.

The rage inside those eyes

Soon they’ll realize

Sweetness, all it’s kinds

Will kill it: rage, it dies.

(Abeerah Biaji Mehreen)
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