My New Face
Can you recognise this sketch –
It is not me.
These are the lines on my face,
You might never see.
Hard it is to transform you,
The habit of this life inhibits.
Start – I must now revisit me –
See what this novel depicts.
The first draft is very exact,
States the facts as they happened.
Cuts and pastes come next,
To have a picture of no abend.
Once, beside the burning pyres of Shmashan,
Fatigued – I dozed, forgot the world around.
Stop there; don’t ask why’s and how’s of fatigue
Till I bite the dust, touch the ground.
Let those pains – saddest thoughts
Bring only the songs sweetest;
I still like to love the world,
All my close, loved ones – at my best.
Would the novel a bit better,
Had I woken up somewhere else –
Some others near my bed –
Some other bells and smells?
New dads and mums in the new home
To the lost street kids;
New brothers – sisters – friends and
Perhaps new different needs?
Check out if you could find the face,
You know for ages;
Discover in the new novel,
What you wanted to touch always – always.
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