An Ode to the awful India after the Serial blasts.

What remained as a vestige
of the carnaged artlessness,
proclaimed a quoin in the
whodunit of the
Twilight zone.

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White noise,
Red noise;
each tends to be parabolic
at one instant or the other

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Few pauses---

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Twitched heart beats
will grow calmer.
Yarrows will ensnare peace.
After each a demise,
we ll exist perpetually...


V@@S...