Unexercised

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That part of myself

long ago put away, tinned,

with tightly screwed lid,

an icy corner behind flavors we don’t like.

 

Under fine dusting of neglect,

artistically articulated

 in outdated diaries,

stored in drawers behind extra keys to lost locks.

 

Despite lack of airing and exercise

I trust she will wake when called.

Dhaka 2016

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