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The Accusation.

There was a bang next door.

Something fell on a floor.

Other things flew out of the door.

Certain others flew in a soar.

Every other thing was in fours.


The shrieks ranted the air.

The shouts lay everything bare.

There was nothing to share.

There was no one to care.

It was a terrible blare.


“It is you ,you”,  accused a voice in anger

“Not me, me,”sobbed the other in a whisper. 

The dialogue was converted into a slander. 

The exchange was disgracefully vulgar.

The incident did not propose a healthy augur.


The storm died down with an intermittent intervention.

The intrusion became a hapless, weak contravention.

The go back would be a shameful digression.

A physical abjure would have been a better proposition.

Alas! the wordy abuse was an incisive demonstration.

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Whispers are noisy too,

When everything  is still,

The rustling leaves do whisper,

As the wind blows in  a gentle fill,

The flowing streams do whisper,

As the water gushes in thrill,

The peeping Sun does whisper,

As the day dawns in shrill,

The bowing trees do whisper,

As the breeze blows in frill,

The dangling flowers do whisper,

As they dance to the melody in drill,

The little child does whisper,

As  it hears the lullaby  to a will,

Whispers do keep us bound,

As they go through all rounds.