Shrubby, thorny, always on the edge.
Edge of roads, edge of soil, edge of deserts.
Hardy, earthy, rough, solitary yet full.
Thirsty, always needing something.
You were with me in the town I was born.
Grandpa used to tell me to stay away from your thorn.
Little did he know we were twins of the same morn.
I met you in Bhavani beach, you scratched me real hard,
Brother you knew meet you did your old forgotten bard.
Then we met at Hazira beach, you gifted me a thorn real deep,
I took the pain, I took the breach, I drained my shallows into vast deeps.
Today I see you in Mundra, in Gandhidham, in Kutchh
I see you everywhere, and you blossom in my being,
Your thorns flowering for my keeping.
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