The People's Poem



When two hands tug

at a thin, worn string,

sometime it’s bound to snap.

After weekends, we tie it up again,

until the growing knot itself

becomes the breaking point.

Then something snaps forever.


Dammed up rivers stay quiet

as long as they have streams to flow

but when the storms come,

the overflow can be so

that even thick concrete comes crashing,

unleashing torrents unimagined heretofore.

Strings snap, but dams do more.





Have I touched your life,

has the wind from the mountain of my soul

rustled through your leaves

like mayas on a ledge

moving like rhythmical mannequins,

have I rested your tired eyes?

After the first torrent

amidst a sky foreboding further ill,

has my chirping chipped the stillness—

Tell me:

Have I given?



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