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Winter Kamala Das It smelt of new rains and of tender Shoots of plants- and its warmth was the warmth Of earth groping for ro...
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Closed like confessionals, they thread Loud noons of cities, giving back None of the glances they absorb. Light glossy grey, arms o...
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Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rou...
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