A Relic On The Wall
P Pradip Chattopadhyay
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The shirt hangs on the wall.
Stirred by the wind,
It sways loose and empty.
A blue envelop in its pocket
Bears his time barred thoughts
That never reached the mail.
The shirt frames an ominous void
Of a journey of no return,
Leaving behind a relic
To sway loose and empty in the wind!
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