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WITHER MY SOUL by Durlabh Singh
Wither my soul wither In kitchen linked porcelains In soup bowls in tea cups In spooned coffees in breaking of bread. Wither my soul wither In icy cold buttress of four walled In ticking of clocks in rippling of sheets In marooned conscience in cowardly feats. Wither my soul wither In pivoted books in ages of lores In museums and masquerades In scribblings of dictionaries In directories of repute. I have withered, withered too my soul In heaps of termites In some sanctified superfluous ways In rules of conducts in games of delights With spooned coffee I have marked my brain Structured insignias of dry rots of the times.
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QUIETER by Durlabh Singh
Quieter flows the sea now Quieter flows the dawn in coming Quieter the fleeced up clouds now Quieter the clamoured up horizons. Quieter the emotions quieter the self Quieter the grief quieter the help Quieter the life quieter the strife Quieter the death's coming Quieter the fate's might.
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© Copyrights reserved Durlabh Singh 2001 |
Copyright reserved. No part(s) of these publications may be reproduced, transmitted, transcribed, stored in a retrieval system, or translated into any language in any form by any means without the written permission of the author.