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by Orbindu Ganga






Circles never joined

the might


Leaving the gap to let

the ant pass by


Glass emptied the wine filtered the

rest to cast away


Winter left the dent for the circle to

cue in the pride.




a line, (a short blue one)





Garden dried scorching heat drank

the xylem


Water table plummeting


Roads drilled diagonally crossing

the amphitheater


Let the crowd fight, leave the well

die tomorrow to never see


Crossed lines gain nothing to leave

the junction in abyssal plain.




a line, (a short blue one)





A tittle of ink never bothered to appraise

the blanket in the blank


To blow the flow to run

where the ink carried the heart


Tore the page with bleeding

words taking the ride


Kissed the blank

A beauty you are.



a line, (a blue one)


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