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Pradip Chattopadhyay
Poems
Sep 13
Boulder River
The boulder river almost called
the figure leaning on the bridge.
The height wasn't much
but one touch would crush.
He saw a doll with its blood
floating away with the current.
Thin line, he muttered under his breath,
I never realised
it was this thin.
He snatched himself away from the moment
and headed towards the rest house
thinking
I would give it a try,
some time.
Written by
Pradip Chattopadhyay
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