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Marshlands are living in proximity of you and me
Without our concurrence, conformance and coexistence
They have a rare earth fragrance of molten ores
They have a rack of clay, mud, iron, salt, Sulphur and various oxides
They have eaten many crystals and broken many lattice beneath
In the nefarious nearness of our oculus drifts
It is congruent to the conjugal coordinates of axial dreams
As you know, axial dreams exist for power and hunger
I love the facades on the surfaces of marshlands
They resemble countless many twigs and leaves I left
They resonate countless many layers of woods I lost
Yet I know, I am far more distant to those marshlands
They engulf entropy entwined to everyone around

If I ever travel near a marshland, I would have been a misnomer
If I ever know the feelings of a marshland,
I would have been a buoyant species of living organism
Do you know how many roots lived and died in a marshland?
Have you had your head enmeshed in any marshlands?
Most probably not. You and me does not know how does it crawl at nights

I sensed a growing sense of irregularity in the lines of Seamus Haney
Perhaps that is why he loved to talk about boughs again and again
Irregularity is the heart of every sonnets that you loved
Nothing regular can absorb meaning in its crux
Irregular songs coagulate in the sonnets I loved
Irregularity is a hush in the backyard of my memory
I mess with them most often than I soften them for tomorrow
Before delving further down to the lipid layers of clay
I must say every breath of marshland craves
For heights, depth, reach, spread, motion and mirage
Yet it is a stillness above and beneath a surface of swollen earth