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An Apple Copse
At a distance you could see a young man standing in the orchard
of peace and love and calmly staring at those bejewelled fruits.
Gazing at them, you could feel the strong rush of wind touching
the apples and could hear the breeze singing a strain of joy and
There they lied hanging and dangling in pairs, like there was no
separation whatsoever. Those greenish beauties with a glimpse of
redness looked glamourous and mesmerizing, presenting a partial
view of serene nature.
Nothing remains as it is nor did these elegant fruits. As my
naked hands picked them into the basket, separating them once
and for all. From both there silver branches of peace as well as
there golden pairs of love.
Some fall into the feigned baskets without agony, but some
of these softies pell-mell pass through the disloyal air, undeflected.
Pounded and wounded as you could see those sweet juices
protruding out like tears rolling in annihilation and sorrow.
It takes just a moment to leave all those hoary branches of
peace blatant and alone, to make them crave for those gems of
love as they look frenzy and heaped full of sorrow. It feels like
selfish hands plucking the fruits peppered the souls of these
branches and wavered them in intoxication.
That young man could still be seen staring at the pale fruits that
had banged up while falling down and looked blemish. Those
lied there withered in misery and strife, without any silver branch,
without any golden pair, they just lied alone and died alone as
world ridges in dead hush...