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SLOW (a sketchy February)

Nobody told me about all these
the stretching of the sun
the peeling off the night,
the steadiness of a silent morning,
the cold whimpers of a sad moon
the healing of a broken heart
all of these are in the bus of slow.

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GIFT (a sketchy February)

What do you think I wrapped for you,
a pot of gold made with silver covering?
Do you think I bought the heavens
and put it in a box of butterflies?
I am not petty enough to bucket your tears
I am not humble enough to read your love letters.

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The sound of rain falling when I’m in bed with a lover,
the breath stuck with me till expiry date.
The hands of a potter beating drums in my chest,
The physics of walking on two feet
stretched by a femur that houses weight.
The ray of the sun burning sins in hell
The existence of a Garden that was home before,
The nostalgic breeze of heaven
The questions of survival
The answers of a Hannah.

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