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East India Poetry

Frozen Ices

Blind I am, and
Deaf I am, and
Dumb though I trip go
The smells get over,
No odour more spelling
Than that rumaging
In your empty stomache.
The boy you never knew
Rushes past and pushes
Foreign jellied smells
Upon your memory
You never knew,
But now you do
And you never shall forget
The beauty. The want.
Day alleys down wander
Stunned and stenches
Made niceties by powder
Muffling the horrid odour
And weaning it to your
Tase. How nice it is,
Frozen ices.

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