Hardik Vaidya (26 Dec 1969, yet to kick the bucket. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)
I lost the key to my suitcases lock.
Perhaps I lost the lock, had the right key.
Out went I to find a lock smith,
Who would free my clothes, to clad my nudity.
He was waiting like the Yama Deva,
Smiled at me and said come my dear brave,
He plied the lock, twisted the sprock,
And in a jiffy was broken the little pad lock.
He smiled, his eyes, they bore a tale of yore,
He freed all men from the bond of wed lock.
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Comments about this poem (Lock Smith by Hardik Vaidya )
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