Nobody keeps the account of frigid night, who knows the pain of
last breath, in fact, we
never peep out of
snug circle,
that's
the reality of self-centered desire - -
nobody has time to think the
homeless souls of winter
night, perhaps their
existence doesn't
underline the
philosophy
of the
civilized world, so-called the warriors
of the era, just sleeping inside
the pashmina, who cares
about the shuddering
sound of last
hours?
* *
- SHANTANU SANYAL
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