Poetry
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Prisoner’s Uniform
Read more: Prisoner’s UniformI do not ask you even for a string, for a chord, —the sky is now in prisoner’s uniform. For caresses you turn to the rain to its grapey touch on the rim of the glass.
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Pastries Infinite…
Read more: Pastries Infinite…Pastries were an extension of my growing up years. Each colourful beauty got located in the experience and recollection of my childhood.
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Nib
Read more: NibUnder the shade of a lamp the black gold pen looks at its nib aware that it has locked centuries of magic alphabets whose DNA lingers inside dried ink. Seen retrospectively all cities, towns, events, accidents, names, numbers,