By Hidayatul Suhaila
Every nightfall,
As the weeping sky does cry,
She persists through it all,
Though it drains her, oh so sly.
Despite his reprimands,
It stirs a tickle deep within,
Why does he never lend a hand,
Growing colder, heart gone thin.
With each dawn's rise,
As the sun casts its vibrant glow,
Words of weariness she vocalizes,
While he continues to curse and throw.
Like a sudden tempest's wrath,
Her life spins in turbulence profound,
Yet gradually it shifts its path,
And tranquility within her is found.
Whom should she point her blame,
Whom should she bear her grudge,
Her spirit consumed by the flame,
Once again pleading for it to budge.
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