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Oct 2014
On the sides of the road
they’re sleeping shutter down
on this cold dead’s abode
alphabets rusty brown!

Some moment time of year
bright minute dark hour
you cannot remember
all the wind blown flower!

You were crying at the time
yet wove a joyous drape
bleeding heart spun a rhyme
found a vent some escape!

Through the ache wrote a yarn
while breaking all the while
played a fiddle on the burn
wore a woeful neon smile!

Walk once more the dead’s abode
show a light dust the page
read the lines on the road
your poems that would never age!
Pradip Chattopadhyay
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