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Turneresque, your legless torso glides above the the water- meadows
breakfast splutters in skillets on farmhouse kitchen Agas;
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The fields sprawl
breathe mist to show mornings start rose gold in autumn here
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Portraits stare clear eyed full-lipped youths
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Her polka dot skirt
is full enough to hide
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David, avoiding tribal conflicts for as long as possible, delays the funeral
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Walking on a million shades
of wedgwood blue
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In the tinsel slum
distant dhol and tabla throb
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Today
The black and white dust
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Zackary Canepari inspired no 3
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The girls dream of Bollywood fame jingle their bangles
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The tourists on the boat
perform puja to Bon Bibi
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They do not have time
to empty
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The Scarecrow at Journey's End
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Ashok the mali's son
runs to the veranda
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He is thrown
through the pillars
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The soldier washes up on the beach
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The Fool climbs
to the trig point
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The traveller
sits at a table
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Amakuni prays
to the kami
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The traveller turns his collar
against the wind
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The Fool slurps at a peach
on the steps of the Butter Cross
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A long walk across the fields
for little legs
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His exuberance wears thin
the beauty of too many vistas
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The traveller stands on the cliff
at the edge of the land
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He swings along
the lane , the ancient hedge
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The peal of bells
lures the traveller
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In the time of the sickness
I left you spreadeagled
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