like strings on a violin.
The winds whispering,
playing its tunes.
Echoing my wildest passions,
forming chords of music.
Mirroring a scrawl of luring stories.
Rich monsoon clouds,
raving to scatter silver bliss.
Swaying along with the,
wrath of vicious breeze.
Who shall help sooth my pain more,
than thee my God's own country.
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