The Release Poem by Subrata Ray

The Release



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The nights did not cause her,
Nor did the day to moan,
They departed her as residue -foams.

Her springs for daily He's,
Were brothel-wretched,
As the used earthen -tea-cups,

The memory colored rejected garments,
Given by Fate in her praise and under-rate,
A rate from nowhere, once proved her rated!

Her coursed geography, received historic operations,
And now her feeble relates the fable of the west,
Yet what for she fought, lies beneath her rusted best!

Her presence is of killing the catalytic- mind,
And the possession of transparent vacancy,
For her abstract She, had no time-furrowed life!

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Subrata Ray

Subrata Ray

Formerly East Pahistan
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