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Jul 2014
Buried in time-holed yellow papyrus
of an unread book of poems
lay hidden a card

the token of a gift

inked in skeletal scribbles
indecipherable

but for five words

indelible in dusty piles' ravage

speaking the gifter's voice

time has come
right now
ripened
to read the book of poems
honor my words.


**read when you forget me.
Pradip Chattopadhyay
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