At the ritual you
become half angel and
spread the cascading black
hair on white moons.
The unwritten words
can start a private violence
in public domain.
I suffer silently
digitally in discrete
signs. I will not project
any genesis.
Inspite of voiceless
protests, you inherit my
theme, like the morning
glory of sun.
There is no mutilation
of truth. I will
take the Agni test to
prove my incapability.
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