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The sky wants me to fly
Scorching sun burns my water
I walk till the line ends
The lines stretch across
The Border. He gets in my words
I stagger at him to begin
How can he speak?
He digs out my place
He invites me to sleep!
Oh! I slept till I wake
Till I fall, till I grow old
Words are not spoken
Word are kept beside my bed
Papers crept on my bed to sing
Tell me o kudha!
Are you there to record my report?
Soon I may get reply
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem