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Boogeyman

Unscathed by fire, devoid of desire

Days turn dire when his blade conspires

No pain is higher till you lay on the pyre

A sight to retire is his robe-like attire

Your life’s expired when you hear that choir

With faces entire getting erased with pliers

Of your fate, you inquire, is your faith acquired

Getting maimed with tires till your blood transpires

Missing posters and flyers filled with tears of criers

A town full of liars succumbed to a great satire.

By: Arman Yusuf

 
 
 

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