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lines of mortality, belongings of strangers I will never meet, freedom and suppression, mute and loud revolutions, maps of a great great granddaughter looking for the voices of all her mothers, a quiet boy with deepest black eyes, sounds of an ever capturing lens, a feminine rock growing bird of paradise, her eyes in moonless night, shy turquoise scarves, homeless wool, splinters of aging wood, invisible doors, mysterious aisles, coal coal charcoal, an auspicious canvas, stones of an artist of magic, her mirror hands...all on my lap now. All of it on my lap now.
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Vaishali Paliwal

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