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A
Anil Kumar Panda
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This rain is so cruel;
It makes the seed of love
Sprout in the fertile soil;
Of a bereaved soul;
That through lonely lane
Of youth takes a stroll;
This cloud is unkind;
Does not let her come out
To give peace to my mind;
That is in deep trouble;
Remembering her face it
Hisses like a bubble.
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