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58 Tryst God in his humble Intents did stumble He fashion the face Of the earth with lace Tinted with colours White and black emitting dolour Leaving the one saint And the latter stained; All he does brings behind ‘M critics to grind, Grinding to awakening His scope; he’s the scum and nothing, And I think the omniscient Too blind Leaving reflections On equality notion Sprouting from political trees, Just like in academic fields Where the God-created lovers Meet to project intimacy Which never was, but hypocrisy As the one must mount On the other to pound, Crush his world. This is our world And our tryst is told With the rumble of a bolt. ...

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