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Lines more lunatic than the sun – 3
just in the middle of the bad luck
I cultivate
some more boutique print
in the accident-prone foot of the kadam-tree
I deploy
a special correspondent of my own
putting my affidavit to the silk-worm
with myself
I’m going to start
bihu-dance
in the juhu-beach
Solo
comes to mind that date…i don’t remember..
when together in the bus-stand
you and me
we were both speechless
to your that silence
was offered my bread and butter
then in your those wide eyelids
for a moment
wasn’t put the shadow of any handkerchief
made of clouds
after then the epic of the mice started
like the creeper and the tree
the servant with the maid-servant
in that enlarging fire
the cloud was burnt
the water too
from the tooth-ache there took birth
the nail-polish
the hawai chappal
my FM
poem
by
Murari Sinha
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