Monday, 11 November 2013


A verse planted in foreign soil.
A lantern hung on a foreign tree
blooms with the same light and shadows
wherever its hung, there it glows;
no foreigners here, it’s only me.


Not many who cannot follow the script;
never mind, it grows where its thrown or sung
plays out its meaning, whatever gift
it has to give, disbursed slowly or swift
burns out and rolls away, off the tongue.

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