Monday, November 3, 2014


Nobody is living
And no one is dead
In the mangrove mud
Of my maimed mind;
But some have gone ahead
And others were left behind.
There is no scorecard
And no way to win merit;
Some have all the luck,
While others can inherit,
But I'm stuck in the muck.
There are no signs of karma -
The world looks much more like
Sad chapters of Job's drama -
Falsehoods on every speaker's spike.
Hopes are mowed down like saplings
Before their leaves can form,
The waters round them dappling
With raindrops of an arriving storm.
Only the swamp survives
To swallow the next explorer.

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