Photo by Joshua Rawson-Harris on Unsplash
The world like this,
Divided, labeled, certain.
But should we care,
If the map is innocent?
These lines,
Stretched across a thousand beliefs,
Carrying the weight of some, yet none.
Drawn by hands, not earth.( sometime I wonder if she knows)
Some, carved by wars,
Some by words
And some by silence.
The price,
so colourful,
a painted sky,
a stained soil.
About the Creator
Supriya limbu
I write sometimes and most of the time I don't know what I write.



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