A man who weaves worlds with words,
his eyes holding galaxies of dreams.
Sometimes a blunt arrow,
but always a compass pointing north.
Stubborn in his principles,
yet with a heart that shelters kindness
like a secret garden.
He never wears his scars on parade,
but their whispers echo in the depths,
a testament to battles fought and won.
*Happy birthday, sir.*
May this year be your canvas,
and your dreams the vibrant colors
that paint it beautiful.
©Archana Chaudhary"Abhimaan"
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