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Atrisha Sen
Jury
13
Poetry
At the crossroads, a death unfolded,
But no crimson marked the fractured stone—
For no flesh was claimed.
A soul twisted from human to something less.
There, upon the ground, a form lay still,
Not the body, but the essence,
The consciousness now lost.
The jury said," Guilty thou art"
Society signed- Hang by the heart to life.
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