Clove Poem by Sankhajit Bhattacharjee

Clove



All roads are blocked.
My car is unable to move.
'Nothing is constant, so hold on',
says the assuring dove.
Blood flows through our veins.
Some drink it but life buds due to love.
You cultivate this earth, you reap.
Nothing is dictated from above.
Clear the road as you brush your teeth daily.
Never rely on clove.

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