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A Poet

All that I do is to wait
at the table of my heart
everything it desires.
I must live to serve
at the table of my eyes
everything it dreams.

What if I boil oil in water
and fry them under my hair
all that I want is to hear
at the table of my brain
everything it sees.

Kathmandu,2004

Submitted: Friday, March 15, 2013


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