A confluence of the gravity-dance
Mixing gunpowder and tears
Tugging at gaps in the memory
A voice here, flat tones of the keening
A shadow here, a way of standing
A couplet here, subliminal, yearning.
This is supposed to be epoch on the rise
This crossing of streams, of decades
But that’s for the Seers and the wise
I just write memoirs in the twisted wool
by Ali.A.Naqvi (2009)
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