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Afloat In Words

Would not move the things.
They had moved me.
I will never be the same.

Probably a time to learn,
listening to yourself. The
sensors didn't go wrong.

More often I will unroll
my candles and burn
them with my life.

Ripening old, in dry
fountains? waiting for
rains in songs of sorrow.

History does not repeat.
I am preparing myself
to start again writing my book.

Will not commit anything.
Standing in morgue
searching for my unclaimed face.
Satish written by

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