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Who does she belong to?
Her pieces -
cracking,
fixing and
dying yet flying.
Wet woods and pendulums
screaming of silk sheets.
A river of dirt and fallen leaves,
and penny of her roses.
Knives and knives of the red -
a sword of her own,
eyes shining and the
smile for the misery of millions.
A kingdom of snapped colours.
A kingdom of the black bride.
    ~Sampurna


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