Squeaking Wheel Gets The Oil - Poem by Hardik Vaidya
I have never understood this spoil.
I was never raised to ask and soil.
To live through fire and ice, were my choices, my signature toil.
When I was young, and you are always young,
I wanted your kiss, I never asked for it miss,
Why didn't you give it, free?
Did you truly believe in the dictum of the wheel?
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