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weird as it is... the willingness to grow and forget... strives for itself in the end...
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somehow, someway... that spark, that hope... all the misread and overfed beliefs that are slowing fading away gives no more happiness than it did when..
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well... it is a process of evolution...
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the last para is a piece in Bengali... my mother tongue...
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no .. there is no such word in the English language... hopefully...
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Night Woman 3 ... the third part of Night woman poem series...
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So
this is what I’ve come to be,
Silver
thorns and rugged dreams,
You’ve
taken more than I can give,
Reason
torn to make ..
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The early morning wake up call,
Led into the sun,
Burnt and bruised I fall,
To take it down to the place where I began,
And this f..
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Rusty
old afternoon,
Sun
seemed to sigh,
At the
beggars who were busy singing,
For lion
heads, just another try,
Somewhere
in..
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why does it happen... that both of us meet... when we dont have any time left for each other...
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