God, It's The Man Speaking
God, it's the man speaking,
by Saheb Mohapatra
From your dark, dumb streets
Where love finds love, neither meets or greets,
Days are dark, where greed, the nights too bring.
Know not I what you are,
It's men whom I see in and after my blink,
In you, let me and my life to sink
Until you put on a greedy gown and at you I stare.
I lost from you as I have taken birth,
Like does the small mounds from storms,
I hope not shadows of few million-homes
Or of that names as false as worth.
What I am is yours and will be once again,
Bless me with bosom until my callus leaves my pen.