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Monday, 5 September 2011

Poetry of the day


        

 Fight

Nobody had ever told you that
 it was an assumption,
and that too a provisional one –
to help  you along for a decade or two :
that things are supposed to make sense.
Growing old,
count yourself lucky if you can
snag some god or such.
Otherwise you will go slowly stupid
while pretending otherwise;
grown up far off children
will help only a bit.

If nothing works, fight
till your last breath.

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