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It Struck Me Every Day
VG (5-5-1950 / meerut, india)

It Struck Me Every Day

Poem By Emily Dickinson

Cry of a Buddhist
Oh, lord Buddha,
Come to our human world,
We are in danger,
We have forgotten your education.
Man come & dies with empty handed.
Then why is he fighting for himself.
Land will remain Intake.
Nobody can be his master.
Then why men are fighting each others.
Please teach them.

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Comments (1)

I love this poem O so true wonderful write.


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