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The plump moon lights up my room. My mind is now a flat graph no desire no lust no dream the cold winds from the rumbling sea make no dent on me I look at my palms and see the cracked floor gnarled roots of mangrove on the wall blend seamlessly with all I have like once I had her in this room love together taking wingless flight to the moon but now I more like sitting here prospecting no words to rhyme not angered at the blankness for in this vacuous moonlight I wait without a hope of gain without a despair of loss unconstrained for time contoured by fireflies alone recounting a new beginning from the end.
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Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 11:00 AM UTC
Afterlife
The plump moon lights up my room. My mind is now a flat graph no desire no lust no dream the cold winds from the rumbling sea make no dent on me I look at my palms and see the cracked floor gnarled roots of mangrove on the wall blend seamlessly with all I have like once I had her in this room love together taking wingless flight to the moon but now I more like sitting here prospecting no words to rhyme not angered at the blankness for in this vacuous moonlight I wait without a hope of gain without a despair of loss unconstrained for time contoured by fireflies alone recounting a new beginning from the end.
pradip-chattopadhyay
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Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 11:00 AM UTC
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