What peeling, should I give
to my silent bud
No new light comes
to open up the space
Engrossed in utter waste
I stear my invisible bloom
What comes nought in stilled time
to that recess I deepen my darkness
I have purged, the conditioning
of the seasoned voices
that lure momentarily
the opening of petals, the rustle of dead leaves
What peeling, nudged my head
to nod a favour from me.
I have nixed all abounding
to absolve my sin
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