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Urban Birds

On the concrete trees,

Blessed are the free

Painful it must be for the avian souls

When, the breeze is caged

And its screams go unheard

When the sunset howls

For the blue dreams blurred

When the greens are slaughtered   

And their sweet songs interred.      

About Soma Mukherjee

I often say things that put me in a jam, Jams go well with Buttered Toasts, Toasts are great hosts, Ghosts not so much, Although they can dance, Not all dancers are serial killers, Serial killers do not use Body bags that often, body bags aren't leak proof, Proof is in the Pudding.

Word Hug

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