The Songof silence reverberates.
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For she is A widow,
A Goddess Of holinessOutside a shrine,A thing of beautyWithout a loverA woman withoutWomanliness.
It has been a war
The Haves and the Have-nots.
Torch me dear or not
For love is a pyre.
Fishing is never an art-
Just to trick an inferior.
Days passed,
Years of waiting-For someone mightTurn up a day.Like a pomegranateIn the mountains highI had been waiting,Smiling with mouths openAnd my pearls-dropped one by one,One after another,Till the last oneFell down-Last afternoon,This autumn.
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I hear a knocksoft, yet prevailinga little away,at this hour of the dawnwhen the Sunis yet to riseand greet the worldin and aroundwith its radiant orangeshine with a smile,and inspiring the travelerlike meto walk an extra mile.I hear froma not so far distancesomeone whispersso erotic inthe ears of the budsto open their eyeswith a smiletowards…