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Dec 2016
Teaching self the,
art of dying
after a serial failure.

Stone pelting has started.
You cannot hear your own voice.

Praying for the inaccuracy of time's arrow.

A physical dimension,
you will give to your impermanence.

And silent flows the glacier out of banks.

Clear fall, seems inevitable.
The sun rises from the debris of moon,
from drop on drop of watery eyes.
Written by
Satsih Verma
282
   yuki and Mishael Ward
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