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TONIGHT WILL BE THE NIGHT OF DEATH

Tonight will be the night of death.
Read me what priests have said.
What histories and books have taught
The ailing poets, what sons have breathed,
What mummified saints and miracle hands
Have become the pilgrim centres of anonymous sufferers.

Has not death perpetuated in stone its gratitude?
Has not the practiced hand of God worked overtime?
Caught in the flesh,
Men have turned into thoughtless metaphors.

Attempting to pick the unknowables
A sadness returns to the heart
In the belief of a shared ignorance
Where the questions hanker over the untruths
And desires conflict with cherished notions.

Therefore, the favours stand out
In the sane remembrance of experiences.

-Sushil Soni

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