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Kirtiman Hazarika
May 25, 2023
In Writing
A word was wanting from your lips, And more and more it burnt my tongue, For I was Fire, you turned Eclipse, To spurn each wail that I had sung. In its cold shade that you parade, Your Beauty bounds and multiplies, For poor wretch I, was not even bade, The reason for your upturned eyes. O Queen of Wrath that roils the heart, Dost thou not know what ails me now? Would not thy sepulchral face part With one smile to please me, thou? Such simpleness in my Desire, And such malice in your lifeless stings, Were not they bound in Pain and Ire, Where one word would pause the one who sings? In its cold shade that you parade,  Your Beauty bounds and multiplies,  For poor wretch I, was not even bade,  The reason for your upturned eyes. O Queen of Wrath that roils the heart,  Dost thou not know what ails me now?  Would not thy sepulchral face part With one smile to please me, thou? Such simpleness in my Desire,  And such malice in your lifeless stings,  Were not they bound in Pain and Ire,  Where one word would pause the one who sings? In its cold shade that you parade,  Your Beauty bounds and multiplies,  For poor wretch I, was not even bade,  The reason for your upturned eyes. O Queen of Wrath that roils the heart,  Dost thou not know what ails me now?  Would not thy sepulchral face part With one smile to please me, thou? Such simpleness in my Desire,  And such malice in your lifeless stings,  Were not they bound in Pain and Ire,  Where one word would pause the one who sings?
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Kirtiman Hazarika

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