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Nov 2016
Where will you go
when you are not right,
not wrong?

And train will not stop
at your station. You
have to wait till sunrise.

Half-mist, half-moon―
and the glass houses.
The rocks refuse to fly.

The consecrated dawn
on a silent street whispers.
The city was dead.

I sleep after the naked
assault. The black shirts
and the white shirts have no answer.
Written by
Satsih Verma
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