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Sep 2017
It weeps ritual.

A spiritual walk
on the spikes. Heartache
to meet life daily.

Shadows beat
on the floor. You wanted
to catch the sun
in water filled vessel.

No silver king,
no coins.
You would never worship
the riches.

Forest of protests
grows. Journey steeps
in pain.

You come close to edge,
fall, rise, stand *****
to face the dark.
Written by
Satsih Verma
  150
     poshal gyamba, ---, Keith Wilson and Shanath
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