The reverberation sprouts
Even before a word is sown
Within the margins of silence
When presumptions overflood
To spill out the afloat seeds
Moving above the furrows
Without a weight to touch
The anxious crevices in deep
They remain swollen like eyes
That are for long moist but unwept
Cracked in the shriveled life
Buried down without being sown
For before the word is uttered
The reverberation overcrorwds
The margins of silence.
Bhatinda
2354
20.5.26
00.25 hrs
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