Elegance....Not To Profess Poem by Sampreeti Mandal

My bashful growth,
Quite sensational by the virtue of victuals,
Tumble dictum of desolation
Has Distraught over my ancient fantasy,
Not to touch me but to hurt more than ever.

Going to ask the prose of infancy,
Do you like my smile?
I am here......
Not to feed the wild pups,
Not to spend with my siblings,
Profusely dropping a war sword inside a sin.

Elegant spring,
Playing violin over my posture,
Whispers to stop the profess of upshot.
Snatches my upcoming eve,
Very squeamish but too much bleak.