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You catch what was convenient for age of denial. The exit. Not being for nothing, a better half of a belief. Dependence was increasing on wounds inflicted on others. I stop at the mid of road to turn or not to turn. For the lost parapharases of existence. The myth of amorality was getting a new title. I close a chapter of non-committance, walk along a wheel chair. I am not limbs, not topless. The toes are prodding on a green vein ! SATISH VERMA

Copyright © | Year Posted 2009

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