I wish I could clean the cobwebs of legends

that veil the vision, moralising future

with doubtful glories urge us to move backward:

echoes of the dead reverberate; no use

setting the alarm to go off 2010

stashed away in empty slogans life's seconds

periodically exhumed is a travesty

of obsolescence of the sun ever clouded

Gateway of India or Delhi's Circus

suffer midnight lust with rites of consummation

like the concklusion ofma tragic poem

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