TALE OF A GRAIN
BISWAJIT
Staring at me
— the gray sandy grain?
— the gray sandy grain?
Did you know where had I been?
I fell apart
Off mountain's cliff.
Living anew, though, had feared ruin.
Living anew, though, had feared ruin.
I thought I lost
The mountain-esteem,
But see, mine luck was rare:
I became free
Flowed and flew with
Stringent stream, arrogant air.
But then I saw
I was settling down
Upon this calm, noble land.
Lumping again,
Forming new rock;
Nature disallowed disband!
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Graphics: Author