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The wise (Free verse) by richa

It is with neither the symmetry of a wind facing rock, nor the art of a half-formed thought that you stand miles from us. You don't hold in your hand a butterfly cabbage white and let go, knowing your grasp is not waning. You just know that the still- water skies cut by its wings number more if not for you.

INTRANSIT 3-Jan-04/2:49 PM
The invalidity of assuming that invalids are invalid.




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