Prakhar Srivastava 2
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Comments about Prakhar Srivastava 2
You want to cast me in that mould,
which I will never get adjusted in,
I am not wax, not iron,
but a wood, a misfit wood.
You try to melt me, I will not melt,
I will burn & burn I will not alone,
my heat will inflame the surroundings,
and all that'll remain of me- cinder, carbon crumbs,
good for nothing.
If you try to fit me without melting,
you have to cut a part of me,
A part that I will lose forever,
A part that was the best of me.
No, I cannot be another of your product, your commodity,
I can not lose my identity,