Dog bones will do good
For yeast-rotten ribs
Poems are painful
When poetry doesn’t flower
Of some ill-gotten fancy
What is wrong with the curve
Convoluted, feminine, fertile
With rich periodic flow
And matchboxes with eyeholes
To fathom beauty in those cabdrivers
Charging passed the blisters where travelers
Risk in.
Gopal Daju… should I propose
You a living in the pollution
Where a vehicle dash against the other
Like meek monsters?
You better live
And ensure Lachung
Always remain, in its youthful seminal flow…
What could be better than
If you are encountered in your nest
By the frost and freezing snow?
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