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Pradip Chattopadhyay
Poems
Jul 2014
The Gift
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.
Written by
Pradip Chattopadhyay
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