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simplema and chintamani are
the first citizens of the road
when trees shaded cycles,
friends walked.
on an afternoon
when raindrops, the size of moondrops,
fell,
they held palms,
folded the moment in an umbrella,
now lost.
for many, morning years
simplema is the first to church,
unpinched of whys, wherefores,
whispering prayers.
chintamani follows.