I indite with you ;
Our verbiage — it is your trans-creation;
Your clever verbatim,
Is not tantamount with respect to mine;
May not even be a worthy surrogate,
Yet I write with you!!

I look at your lectern;
At 16 , I was too unaware of your lachrymose knell;
Not prepared for your valedictory speech;
Not even now at 20.
I indite with you.

THE Magnate you are,
In my visceral blood lies only the vestige;
The vernal verve— seems to be sere;
Spate of tear gushes out of my eyes;
I skulk and sequester;
Then in the shadow of the taper and the stockade ,
I find you;
Scared of spoonerism,
I look for the vise;
I try not to vitiate;
And then I see your visage.

The verdigris moves away;
You show m me your variegated world;
I falter;
I expatiate with you;
I try to be sedulous;
And I retreat from secession.
I indite with you.

Fledgling I am;
I know your sidereal presence ;
I see your finesse of translation ;
The verbose filigree gives me strength.

Now I know I will not taint,
Nor will I squander words and time.
I will not shunt;
Verisimilitude exists in our vignette.
The euphony of words evinces from our scripts,
As I am writing with you!!


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