They pour sand in my hair
and fill my shoes with stones
to make me heavy
like many I too grab
the grass and try to float
but my fingers slip
they refuse my pleas for
a rope or staff to help
me drift in current
they wish me to become
with facial epitaph
my own tomb
--R.K.SINGH
Monday, December 8, 2008
Friday, December 5, 2008
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