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By N. Ojha.

She got a blow on the door of core of her heart
With the sound, No,
And turned into a statue.
As of happy prince with the idea of no reality.
Pains come down as drops of tears
In the form of pearls.
Web of her fantasy cracked down in to thousand pieces.
Parished all the outputs of her fantasy.
The angle of reality murmurs to  her ear
Be firm and look  before you leap. The earth is very  harsh
There,s no soft corner Then you will be cheated never.

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